because these were pilgrimages. I could see her quite clearly, walking up and down that shoreline looking off in the direction of Europe.
One afternoon while I am looking at that solitary figure on the reef Mr Newton from management comes up behind me and whispers in my ear. How would I like to be made supervisor? Well I am still that person today. I donât know what tomorrow will bring. I am happy. I believe in love. I would like some of that to fall out of the sky and land at my feet one day. But before I bend down and pick it up I will be sure of what it is first.
two
The inspector
The boat she paid for stank of fish. She never saw the pilot. There were crewâa few men, always with their backs turned to herâ and the others. It was at night and so it was hard to know exactly how many of them there were. But then cargo doesnât ever stop and think to count.
To pay for her berth she had hotel sex with foreignersâ counting the Dutchman who had taught her to swim. She had saved money of all denominations and currencies. Some she thought must be Chinese, but also euros and pounds and American dollars. She rolled these notes over and over into a cigar which she slipped inside of herself for safe keeping.
For hours there was just the slap of the sea against the bowsprit. The cargo sat huddled. People from different parts of the continent. No one speaking for fear of being overheard. The danger is around them, thickly layered, ears filled with good hearing, eyes able to pierce the darkest night. They sit with their bundles of belongings. They sit on top of their emptied bowels. They havenât eaten for hours, half a day or more. They have been advised it is better that way.
The slowing of the boat made everyone sit taller. Heads turned. Those seated opposite peered back across her shoulder. Thatâs when she turned and saw the coastal lights of Europe. From the area of the stern there came a loud splash. She watched a black face scramble and clutch a buoy at the side of the boat. The man was still hugging it as the boat pulled away. Now, for the first time, she heard the instructions. Another boat would be by to pick them up. They arenât to worry. They can expect to be in the sea for upwards of an hour. They should hang onto the buoy and wait. There is no need to be afraid. It will work to plan just as it has so many times before. She was reminded of the hotel voice used to placate guestsâgentle, reassuring, smiling. The water will soon be back on. It wonât be much longer before the electricity is restored. A repair man is on his way to your room. Of course you may drink the water if you so choose but it is not advisable.
There was a splash. Another body writhed in the unfamiliar, and, as before, a pair of frightened eyes receded into the night.
An older man sitting further along the gunwale quietly announces he cannot swim. He is sitting with a box of belongings on his lap, his long peasant arms thrown over it. No one said anything and no one turned to look at the splash he made.
She can at least swim. The Dutchman used to sneak her into the hotel pool at night. He told her to lie in the water and to pretend it was a bed, then he had shown her how to move her arms and to think that the thing she was reaching for lay continually beyond her grasp.
A face wearing a black woollen cap crouches near her. As the boat quietly comes around she sees the buoy. She had taken off her sneakers and is bending down to pick them up when a hand shoves her and she falls on her side into the sea. Briefly, miraculously, she doesnât seem to get wet. She is in the water but it isnât in her. It was just for a split second, something for hope and amazement to cling to. Then all at once the water seeped through her clothing and she thrashed around in the sea at the shock of it until she felt the hard plastic of the buoy.
The boat moved away, and the night and a sense of the void walled up