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65
Boat People
I turn to the man in front of me, abruptly shaking him from his
lifeless sleep. Gazing towards his semi-conscious eyes I notice his
unusually withered face. His eyes sit imperfectly perched on his
skinny cheek bones like golf balls; a small scar kisses the tear duct of
his left eye and hundreds of tiny folds in his skin show signs of age.
He returns to the world around him, trilling his lips and peering at
me with confusion. He sees my wet, saddened eyes and immediately
realises why I seek his aid. He raises a long, bony finger just above
his hip; pointing towards the front of the line. I follow his line of
sight. He’s not pointing at the line, he’s pointing at the boat.
I spring to my feet, carelessly startling numerous people around
me. I run, jump and dodge. The guards are beginning to chase me
and one fires near my feet but I resist their attempts to stop me.
Sweat beads combine with the tears streaming down my face,
creating a stinging sensation on my dry skin. The start of the line is
within my sight, only a few more guards to pass before I can slip
through the gates and board the boat. Ten metres, five metres, one
metre. I stop and raise my eyes only to see the boat beginning to
drift away from the shoreline. Firas’ perfect, moon shaped face rests
on the ledge of the ship. I struggle to contain myself as I notice a
gash on the side of his head from which a stream of blood trickles.
His eyes are filled with tears and his hands struggle to prop his
fragile head above the ledge. They’ve beaten him.
I slump to my knees in agony; it feels as though someone is
slowly ripping my heart from my chest. People whisper around me,
questioning my situation yet I cannot find the words to respond.
One young girl steps out of the line, reaches out and simply strokes
my dry, broken skin. I sob into my sleeve, inhaling the remaining
scent of my son’s gorgeously delicate hair. Finally, I pull myself
together and I am helped to my feet. Again, I gaze across the water
only to see the boat pushing aggressively against the waves far, far
away; getting closer to Australia and further from me.
A lanky, old guard approaches me. I fear he will beat me but he
only wants to negotiate.
“You want a spot on that boat?” He curiously questions, “what
will you do for it?”
“Anything, I swear!” My voice is raising but I cannot get the
words out fast enough. “Take everything I own. It isn’t much but
take it all.”
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