Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding)

by Ireland, Tom

  An unknown length of time later the sound of the boat’s engine woke him. He sat up and banged his head on a beam. He fought against the confining embrace of the sleeping bag. It was daylight, and the boat had left its mooring. There was a skylight above his head; low grey clouds were slipping by. The only other window was in the door; he thought he could make out the dark shape of someone steering the boat.

  ‘Stay where you are, for God’s sake. We’ve got a few hours to go then it’s over the side with you. Show your face before I tell you to and you’re over the side anyway.’ Ed-Lamin lay back. His head ached, his foot hurt and he felt sick and sorry for himself. Somehow he knew the voice. A woman’s voice. Back on land he had a woman who wanted to be his wife. She was carrying their child, and their child would be black like his father. Jane was a feisty girl; she would cause trouble; she would escape and they would be a family again. If only it could be Jane. He closed his eyes and tried, and failed, to imagine playing with his children as his father had played with his family. The boat crashed into a big wave, rose, fell, crashed into another and another. Ed lurched out of bed, found a bucket and vomited copiously into it. Crash, pause, crash, pause, vomit; the sequence was without end. He remembered his father saying

  ‘There’s a problem with sea-sickness; at first you’re afraid you’re going to die and later you’re afraid you won’t.’ He suddenly felt better. He was his father’s son and his mother’s firstborn. He was a tribesman of a noble tribe. He was an educated and civilised man. Nil carborundum – don’t let the bastards grind you down. He rinsed his mouth with the last of the water and lay down again.

  ‘We’ve crossed the bar and there’s not a patrol boat in sight. Come on deck and breathe the air!’ Ed stumbled to his feet and slid the cabin door open. There was plenty of air to breathe. The motion of the boat was easier now; she rose and fell, rolled gently, but made her way purposefully through the dark water.

  ‘God, you look rough, man. Sure you’re cut out for this sort of thing? There’s hot tea in that flask. Leave some for me. Welcome to the wet bit of the railway.’ Oddly high pitched voice for a man. Ed looked again. Not a man, then. A woman, a teen-aged girl. Rachel! It was Rachel. She grinned at him.

  ‘Surprised? You can jump over the side and take your chances with the fishes? No? Nor would I. It’s time to tell you the next stage. It sounds a bit lunatic, but it’s worked before. Twice at least that we know of. Depends on the weather. In two hours I’m going to invite you to climb into that rubber dinghy and cut yourself adrift and wait for rescue. You’ll be in a main shipping lane and you’ll have a very good chance of being picked up by a freighter bound for North Africa. Sounds good?’ It sounded bloody stupid, thought Ed. He supposed that Rachel's identity had been concealed from him in case he'd been captured by the Watchmen before they set sail.

  ‘It has worked, honestly. Twice that we know of. It may have worked other times, it’s just that we don’t know. Don’t look like that! I wouldn’t do it if I thought it was doomed to failure. I like you. Trust me. Drink your tea.’ He obeyed. People did get rescued from life-rafts. That’s why people kept on making them and people kept on buying them. Some of the people who got rescued would end up in Africa. One in five chance, and quite a good one. America might do as well. Europe was the dodgy one, the joker in the pack. Asia was a bit far away … he sipped the hot sweet tea. He’d forgotten a continent; it niggled at him. Rachel was staring at him. She blushed.

  ‘Ed; do something for me, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What?’ There was a silence.

  ‘Kiss me? A real kiss? Please.’

  ‘Rachel, you’re a kid. I’m married, well, nearly. Why?’

  ‘I’m nearly twenty. I’ve never had a proper boy friend. I do things that seem to scare boys away – like going to sea on my own and sky-diving. I’m not girly. I don’t know how to be. I buy clothes because they’re water-proof. I smell sweaty most of the time. I do the iron-man triathlon, well I’m aiming to. Please.’

  The boat swung a little off-course as they kissed but otherwise seemed to approve of their activity.

  ‘How do you know there are no patrol boats about?’

  ‘Radar. There’s nothing within five sea-miles of us. We’ll be in international waters soon. I’m turning south and going to run down the Welsh coast into the shipping lanes. Then we’ll launch the dinghy and cast you adrift. With a bit of luck you'll be picked up by the right ship. If not ... If you get home, sorry; when you get home, visit the MRC clinic at Bakau and talk to my brother, Henry. He’s doing research into something I can’t pronounce let alone understand. He’ll get news back to us, somehow. We’re all very proud of him. Ed,’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thank you. That was nice. It’s time to get the dinghy ready; I’m going to dump you now.’ About time, he thought. It had been a very nice kiss, and something to remember as he waited somewhere in the Irish Sea for his next railway station to float along. Rachel cut the boat’s speed to the minimum necessary to keep her head to the wind and un-strapped the life raft from its cradle on the cabin roof. Together they dragged it into the cockpit.

  ‘Remember; you stole it. You don’t know this boat and you have never seen me, or anybody like me. It won’t be a problem if they find you; probably they’ll just shoot you and leave you. You shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. There’s some fresh water in one of the pouches, and a medical kit with sea-sickness pills. When you leave the life raft don’t take anything with you – everything could be traced. Keep hold of this rope while I chuck the raft overboard. As it hits the water it should inflate. Good job it’s fairly calm.’ He looked at the waves. “Fairly calm” did not seem an appropriate description. He held the rope firmly and Rachel heaved the raft overboard. For a long moment nothing happened, then, with a bang the chambers inflated and the raft bobbed gently along side. Time to go.

  ‘Rachel, thanks. I hope … thanks, anyway. Why “Rachel”?’

  ‘It’s where mum thought I was conceived. Saint Rachel's Gardens. Dad was all for calling me “Gardens”!’ He climbed unsteadily into the raft.

  ‘Bye, Ed. Take care.’

  ‘Bye, Gardens. Nice kiss!’ The vessels drifted slowly apart. Rachel increased speed and swung in a wide circle round the raft. Ed was sure she blew him a kiss. He settled down to inspect his new station. There was a stencilled sign which read ‘not to exceed four passengers’. There was barely room for one, he thought. He found the pouches containing water and the medical kit. He took one of the pills with a swig of water. Rachel was out of sight. He discovered the raft had an inflatable canopy, and he wriggled round to allow it to form a rubbery roof above his head. He left a small hatch unzipped so he could keep an eye on the outside world. The outside world rotated on a variety of axes. The rubber floor of the raft took on a life of its own. He tried to think of Jane, and her baby. Rachel kept intruding into his thoughts. He tried to think of rescue, of arriving home, of killing Mr Jones, slowly. He failed. The pill did not work. He managed to stick his head out of the hatch before he vomited. He was grateful to the wave that broke over him, rinsed him and drove him back into the flexible coffin. The Irish Sea hadn’t looked so large when Rachel had shown him the charts. He was a black dot in a grey raft on a grey sea. A sea which heaved and rolled and pitched regardless of whatever he felt or wished for. He wished to be alive – he was alive. He wished to be free – it was difficult to envisage a greater freedom, alone on the ocean. He wished to be safe – he hadn’t drowned, so far. He might drown at sometime in the future, he might be captured, but, for the moment he had everything he wished for. Except Jane. He slumped against the unstable side of the raft and sobbed uncontrollably. He took another pill and drank half the remaining water. He felt drowsy, and closed his eyes just for a moment.

  ‘Oh look, a stray life raft’ said a loud voice. ‘I wonder how it came to be here. It doesn’t look like a railway station.. .’ Ed was reminded of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party
. He crawled to the hatch and looked out. Two black faces gazed down at him from a rigid inflatable boat. They smiled.

  ‘Hello. How are you? I’m Ed-Lam-‘

  ‘We don’t want to know your name’ said one of the faces ‘not yet, anyway. Just tell me if you think you’re on a railway journey?’

  ‘Yes, sir. This is the third station, I think. Or is it just a waiting room?’

  ‘You’ll do. Can you scramble into this boat, d’you think?’ They might as well have asked him if he could climb Blackpool Tower using only his teeth.

  ‘Sorry, I seem to be a bit wobbly. Could you possibly give me a hand?’ Two pairs of arms reached down, took a tight grip on his wrists and hauled him aboard the other boat. He collapsed on the floor of the cockpit and heard the engine roar beneath him. This voyage lasted only a couple of minutes. The motor launch idled up to a battered, rusting cargo ship. Dangling lines from a pair of davits were fixed fore and aft to the launch and it was winched slowly up to the boat deck. A man in a sweater, wearing a captain’s cap, helped Ed onto the deck, and steadied him while he found his footing.

  ‘I wish I could say “Welcome aboard the Great Western” but it’s a bit misleading and there’s a famous predecessor so I’ll welcome you aboard the “Bluebell Line” instead. Come on, let’s get you sorted out. The lads will find you some seaworthy gear and somewhere for you to kip for a while. Hungry?’

  ‘No sir, but I’d be glad of a wash and a bed that keeps still. Please.’

  He was led down a flight of nearly vertical iron steps and along a narrow cream-painted corridor lined with metal piping. They stopped outside a wooden door.

  ‘Here we are. There’s four bunks, a sink and a sea-toilet. Your bunk is the top one at the far end. Sorry it’s next to the loo. You’ll find a bundle of clothes, some soap, a tin mug and a few other odds and ends. Get some rest, you’re on watch tonight.’

  He rinsed as much of the salt spray off as was possible in a small sink. He had to hold onto any solid surface; the cabin seemed to have gravitational laws of its own. He pulled on a clean pair of shorts and set about negotiating his way onto the top bunk. He lay down and gripped the wooden edge for dear life. He closed his eyes and the motion seemed less violent. He was alive. He hadn’t drowned. Again, a story from his childhood came to mind. ‘Duffers drown. If not duffers, won’t drown’ or something similar. He longed for the apparent strength of his father. And what would Ed senior have made of his eldest son? Thinking about it there appeared to be a disparity between their actions. His dad had run away to Africa and he was trying to run back to it. Did that make some sort of sense, he wondered. Too many questions. Dad might have known the answer, if there was one. He closed his eyes and relaxed his grip on the world.

  ‘Wakey, wakey, lad. Feeding time, then you’ve got work to do. No such thing as a free ticket on this ship!’ A friendly face peered at him. ‘You look a bit better than when we pulled you on board. Come on. Face the world time. Get some shoes and socks on, and a warm sweater. It’ll be a bit cool on the bridge. Good. Food first; follow me.’ Out of the door, along the corridor, up the iron stairs. Ed blinked. This was too much like the prison. Through the next door and Mr Jones would be there with a gun. He stopped in his tracks.

  ‘If you’re going to kill me …’

  ‘Bloody hell, lad. If we were going to kill you you’d be dead hours ago. You’re safe. The watchers are bloody miles away. You’re going to get some stew down you, a couple of mugs of hot sweet tea and then you’ll be out on the wing of the bridge with a pair of field glasses watching out for the Watchers. Tables turned, sunshine. Come on.’ He pushed open a door and shoved Ed into a rough dining area. A large, long table, with a low rail round the side. Benches, bolted to the floor. Half a dozen faces turned to greet him. Smiles, and a large iron pot of steaming stew added aroma to the greeting. A bowl, a spoon and a large mug were pushed towards him.

  ‘Help yourself. If you don’t eat your share these gannets will eat it for you!’ He ate; he drank and smiled at his new companions. Too full of emotion to speak, his smile expressed his thanks. He ate, surprised by the depth of his appetite.

  ‘Ready for work, lad?’ He nodded. ‘Right, follow me.’

  ‘What have I got to do?’

  ‘Captain will tell you, lad.’ The captain was the man who had briefly welcomed Ed aboard after his rescue from the life raft.

  ‘Stand there, on that side of the bridge. Use these glasses; they’ve got good lenses. Any other boat or ship you see, anything at all, you report to me. It’s not as easy as it sounds and I’d rather you reported ten false sightings than miss one real one. Right?’

  ‘Right, sir. I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Better than best, son. Your life might depend on it.’ He handed the binoculars to Ed and walked away to the other side of the bridge. The seaman at the wheel nodded to Ed and returned to his own duty of keeping course.

  The time passed slowly; there were ample false alarms but the Watchers were absent from that stretch of water that night. Four hours were more than enough. Ed was relieved when the captain slapped him on the back and sent him back to bed. He fully intended to undress and shower but he collapsed onto his bunk and slept soundly for the next eight hours.

  His life reduced to basics: sleep, food and work. He became used to the motion of the ship and the routine of life aboard. The atmosphere was amiable; smiles were the commerce of daily life. The ship called at Tangier to unload half a dozen tractors and loaded several bales of tie-dyed cloth to fill the space. Ed-Lamin was loaned to the engineer to polish some brass work in the engine room. Had anyone boarded the ship with the authority to check the crew Ed, covered in engine-oil and hands blacker than usual with Brasso, would have appeared to be a normal member of the labour force. One night in harbour had Ed clutching at hand rails to steady him against the lack of movement as the vessel tied firmly to the harbour wall. He fell asleep that night holding firmly onto the edges of his mattress to combat the unaccustomed stillness of the cabin.

  Next morning the voyage continued. Ed breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of sight of land. The captain noticed the relaxation showing on the young man's face.

  'I know the feeling, lad. Sometimes I feel like setting sail and keeping a good few miles between me and the land. But we're sailing into friendly waters now. I used to have these thoughts as we were coming into Liverpool bay after a long trip but now it's the opposite; give me Africa any day of the week. It's where civilisation started and it's where civilisation has come to rest. There's still problems, of course there are. But I feel safer walking down a dark alleyway in Dakar or Banjul than ever I felt at home, and it's worse there now that PPP crowd have seized power. You're going home and I envy you.'

  It was the longest speech he had heard any one on the ship make.

  'Captain, Thanks. Thanks for taking care of me. I thought I'd lost everything but you remind me I'm going home and that I've got a home to go to. I owe you a lot.'

  'You owe me nowt, lad. You've given me the chance to do something for humanity and I'm glad to do it. All you owe me is the duty to pass on any kindness you've been shown. You'll have plenty of opportunity to do it. Sorry lad; my father was a preacher and it's catching. Now shut up. The next land you'll see is Africa. We'll sail along the coast till we reach Dakar and maybe that's where we'll part company, unless I pick up a cargo for Banjul or somewhere further south. Anyway, you'll be on African soil and your tongue will get you home somehow or other. You still have your tribal language?'

  'Yes sir. I was teaching Jane to...' he stopped and dare not go on. The thought came to him that he might never see her again, or even hear how she was or what had become of their child. He stared into the distance as if trying to see the future and could not do so. The captain walked quietly away to the other side of the bridge and prayed for the safety of his own family.

  12

  The new car had arrived a day after his wife had left to care for
her parents. He had slept badly; surprised that he actually missed the snoring hulk with whom he had shared a bed for twenty-odd years. He was in the kitchen, fiddling ineffectually with the espresso machine when a large grey and black four-wheel drive car pulled up by the kitchen door. A man in uniform, smart, middle-aged, got out and opened the rear door of the car. A young woman stepped down and handed a case to the man.

  ‘I’m Grant, your driver sir. This is Miss –‘

  ‘Theresa, sir, like the saint. I’m your housekeeper, sir. I cook and tidy and wash. I can take message and run errands. I’ll do the shopping and I’ve got IT skills too. Anything you need sir, anything at all. Really.’

  ‘Really?’ He was not in the best of moods. ‘Anything? Right. Fix this sodding machine so it makes coffee. You, Grant? Welcome. Can you make toast? Good. Coffee and toast all round. I’m going for a shower. Down in five. Right? Good.’ He stormed off upstairs.

  The morning improved. The coffee was strong and tasted good. The toast was medium brown and spread with butter and marmalade. He sat at the table and looked at his new staff.

  ‘Sit down, for god’s sake. You make the place untidy. You, girl, get me another coffee first.’

  They sat round the table. There was no chatter; that was good too.

  ‘Finished? Good. You, girl; clear up in here then get to know the house. You’ll be able to guess which is my room; it’ll need a tidy too. Don’t, do not, touch any paper. I know where each and every single page is so if you have any thought of having a nosey round just forget it or you’ll find yourself in a remedial centre. You, Grant, I’m due in a meeting at HQ at twelve. Get me there, wait, then home again. Theresa; supper at eight o’clock tonight. Soup and a sandwich will be fine. No cheese. Got that?’ Grant nodded and headed for the door.