Close to the Wind (12 page)

Now that the port was safe, it might reopen to ships very soon. They would arrive from all over the world, bringing boxes with Papa’s name stencilled on the side, the same as they had done for the past thirty years. They would be loaded into lorries by the big black crane and taken to the factory or to one of the warehouses that Papa owned, and where Nicholas Massa would now send men to recover whatever he planned to smuggle in the bottom of the boxes.

Ten metres along the wall from Malik, a man stood at his brazier roasting chestnuts on an upturned dustbin lid. Malik used him as a place to start, and then turned slowly, looking to the left and right as he checked the faces of everyone in the crowd.

There were so many to take in. Too many. It would be easy to miss a familiar face, even if they were near to him. The cat scratched at the side of the rucksack close to the back of Malik’s head and he turned and caught sight of the clock on the Port Authority building. It said 9.45.

Malik looked past the family who had arrived next to him and were settling their children down, getting them to sit on their suitcases. The mother wiped the nose of the little girl and unbuttoned her yellow jacket to keep her from getting too hot now that the sun was up.

Papa was taking a long time. Malik thought about going into the warehouse to look for him, but then he might miss Mama if she arrived. No, he should stay where he was. He checked the Port Authority clock again and it had hardly moved. Perhaps it wasn’t working.

Malik searched the crowd again. This time he tried to filter out all the faces of the men, so that
he only saw the women. He stood on tiptoes and tried to put her face to the front of his head – he should see nothing else but her, and he should concentrate only on her face.

A clamour rose up from the entrance to the dock, where the armoured vehicles were parked. Malik saw two lines of soldiers marching onto the quayside and another line of soldiers had moved across the dock and were holding people back, their arms linked, their hands gripping the butts of their rifles.

The man with the clipboard hurried past Malik. He had the megaphone up at his mouth and was shouting for everyone with a ticket to form queues, so that they were ready when the time came to board. He pointed out different queues for the different coloured tickets – yellow to the right, and blue to the left.

Malik wanted Papa to come back. He stepped from one foot to the next. A thin line of smoke now rose from the blue funnel of the ship and the family beside him got their children to stand up and pick up their suitcases. The mother turned to the father. ‘Where did he say the queue was for blue tickets?’ They pushed forward into the crowd, so they were closer to the quayside.

‘There you are.’ Papa was suddenly beside him, his hand on Malik’s shoulder, his eyes glittering. ‘I have our tickets.’

‘You do?’

‘Of course. Look. Here is yours.’ Papa held a ticket up to Malik’s face. It was bright yellow and had the words ‘the
Samaritan
’ in bold black ink. Malik turned it over and saw his full name printed on the underside.

‘Don’t hold it up for everyone to see. Put it away, boy.’ Papa looked the other way as Malik put the ticket in his pocket. ‘Do you have it safely in the buttoned pocket?’

Malik nodded. He had known Papa would get them tickets for the ship. Now all he needed to do was find Mama. ‘What’s happening over at the gate?’

Papa looked back across to the entrance. ‘They look like they’re stopping people from coming onto the dock if they don’t have tickets.’

‘But what about Mama? Will she be able to get in?’

‘Of course she’ll get in,’ said Papa. ‘They have her name on the gate, but she’s probably here already.’ He looked around him. ‘She may already be on the ship. It’s not impossible.’

Malik felt the same pain as before. Mama was so close, but she still wasn’t here with him. The sight of the soldiers on the gate made him stamp his foot. ‘You said she was meeting us here!’

Papa bit his lip and watched the scene that was unfolding on the dockside. People had formed queues close to where you could board the gangplanks. Malik saw a man in a trilby push through a line and wave to his waiting wife and child to come and join him and the man with the megaphone announced that anyone with tickets should come forward now because they would board any minute.

The clock on the building suddenly said 10.20. ‘Where is she, Papa? Why isn’t Mama here?’

The two of them jumped at a single shot that rang out from somewhere on the dock, and the armoured cars started up their engines. Papa turned back to Malik. ‘Your mother will be with the purser. I bet that’s what’s happened. She’s probably already on the ship. Definitely. And you have your ticket with you. Perhaps you should join the queue while I wait here? You could go aboard and see if she’s there, then you could wait with her till I arrive.’

‘No, Papa.’ Malik tightened the grip on Papa’s hand. ‘I don’t want to get on the ship alone.’

Papa frowned. ‘No, of course you don’t. I was just thinking that would be easier.’

Malik shook his head. ‘I’m not going on the ship without you.’

Papa hesitated. He tugged at his beard and held his hand up so that Malik would say no more. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I will go and ask my contact if she has boarded. He has a list of all the passengers, so he will tell me for certain. But you should stay here and wait for me to come back. That way she won’t miss us if she comes here as we had planned. Do you understand?’

Malik nodded. He looked around him, desperate for his mother’s face. If only she would come. If only she would suddenly appear from nowhere, as though by magic, and put a hand on his head and smile at him. He looked left and then right, hoping to see her face, but it was Papa’s face that appeared, suddenly close to Malik and large as the moon. He touched Malik’s cheek. ‘You’re a good boy, Malik. I’m so proud of you. Remember that, won’t you?’

Malik felt strange when Papa said that.

‘Now, we must get on.’ Papa took his hand from Malik’s cheek and looked over at the bright red door. ‘You wait right here.’

And Papa walked back inside the building.

The crowd was bigger than before and busier. Most of the people now faced the ship, so Malik could only see the backs of their heads. A metre or so ahead of him was a large black bollard and Malik climbed up to get a better view. To his left, the armoured cars were strung out in a line behind the soldiers, and beyond them Malik could see the people without tickets, still held back behind the gate, pushing against the line of soldiers. They were shouting and shaking their fists in the air.

Malik checked the women standing in the queue for the front gangplank. He noticed the colour and length of the hair that showed beneath their hats, but it was difficult to see clearly and he knew that he wasn’t close enough to get a proper look. He put a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.

Then suddenly he saw her, twenty metres away, standing alone near the back of a line, with blonde hair that touched the collar of her tweed coat.

Malik jumped down and ran in her direction, losing sight of her as he pushed past the backs of men who stood in the way. When he glimpsed her again she was still there. He wanted her to turn
and look at him. He wanted her to smile when she saw him.

A lorry reversed through the crowd, its horn blaring, blocking Malik’s path and forcing him to run around it, but when he came past its wide green bonnet there she was, standing right in front of him, and he took hold of her hand, but the woman, who was not Mama, drew her hand away and looked down at him, confused.

‘I’m sorry,’ stammered Malik. He wiped his hand on his shirt and let it fall to his side. ‘I thought you were Mama.’

A man came past him shouting, ‘Families to the left.’ He sounded angry and waved his arms in front of him, trying to part the crowd. ‘All those with children should be to the left.’

The woman asked, ‘What is her name?’

‘Maria Kusak,’ Malik told her. ‘She is wearing a blue dress with white flowers.’

The woman put a finger to her lips, concentrated for a moment and then dismissed him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It could be anyone.’

Someone tapped Malik’s shoulder and he turned to see a man whose hat touched the top of Malik’s head as he leaned over him. ‘Orphans should be over
there.’ He pointed out past Malik’s head. ‘There’s a different queue for orphans over there.’

Malik looked across and saw a line of bewildered children holding yellow tickets just like the one in his pocket.

The man with the megaphone appeared and pointed at Malik. ‘He’s right. If you’re an orphan you should be over there with the others.’

‘I’m not an orphan.’ Malik looked back at the Port Authority building, hoping to see Papa.

The official with the megaphone came right up close. ‘So where are your parents? They should be with you. Are they here?’ He took hold of Malik’s shoulder. ‘Can you give me your name? It’s important that unaccompanied children are on the list if they’re entitled to be on the ship.’ He lifted his clipboard and turned the top page over. ‘Do you understand me? I need to know if you have a ticket.’

A whistle shrieked above the noise of the crowd. Just behind Malik, a soldier was arguing with a passenger, telling him to leave the line because he didn’t have a ticket. The man with the megaphone saw that people had begun to board, and he suddenly let go of Malik and hurried away in the direction of
the front gangplank. The line of passengers pushed forward, then came to a stop. Someone shouted, ‘There’s no need to push if you’ve got a ticket. Please stop pushing. We’ll all get on.’

Malik turned and ran, using the Imperial Stout poster to guide his way through the pressing crowd, till he stood beneath it and was exactly where Papa had left him.

Papa wasn’t there. Neither was Mama.

He stared between the bodies of running men and women, trying to get a glimpse of either of them, his hands held together to stop them shaking. The ship was getting ready to leave and he was on his own. What if Mama was already on board like Papa had said? What if he had missed Papa as well? Perhaps Papa was looking for him now, searching the queues at the front of the quay? He should have done what Papa told him and stayed exactly where he was. He stared at the red door of the Port Authority building, deciding whether to go in.

A hand touched his shoulder. ‘Are you Malik?’

Malik turned and saw a middle-aged lady in a black bonnet. She wore a white blouse that had large flat buttons done up to the neck and a jacket with a
handkerchief in the top pocket. On her hands were soft black leather gloves.

A man stood close behind her. He was in a dress suit with a black bow tie. ‘Well, are you?’ he asked irritably, and he looked back to the line of passengers already walking up the front gangplank.

Malik looked from the man to the woman. ‘Who are you? Where’s Papa?’

The woman tried to smile. ‘He asked us to take you onto the ship. He says you are to meet your mother in the purser’s cabin and he’ll be along shortly to find you both.’

Malik was confused. ‘Papa told me to wait here. Have I missed him?’

The man tugged at his wife’s jacket. ‘Come on, Mariam. We’ll miss our place. Come on.’

Malik didn’t know what he should do. How did this woman know his name if it wasn’t true? ‘I want to wait for Papa,’ he told her. ‘He told me to wait for him here and not to move.’

The woman smiled sweetly. ‘That’s right. He told us you’d say that. He said to tell you that your mother is already on the ship and she’s waiting for you. He checked the passenger list.’ She held out her hand. ‘We can take you on board. Your grandfather
told us you have your ticket with you. You do have your ticket, don’t you?’

Malik nodded, but he wasn’t going to show her.

A roar came from the crowd near the entrance and there was gunfire.

‘Mariam!’ The man picked up his suitcase and slung a large leather satchel over his shoulder. He took hold of the woman’s arm. ‘Come on or we’ll miss it. Let him stay if he won’t come.’

The woman put her other hand out to Malik. ‘She’s waiting in the purser’s cabin. Come with us and we can find her.’

Malik reached out and took the woman’s hand. She followed her husband through the crowd and Malik went with her, walking two steps behind, the tip of her black leather glove in his fingers, turning his head from left to right to see if Papa would suddenly appear, but he could see nothing except the coats and hats of other passengers who were pressing to one side, penned in by the mob who had broken past the line of soldiers and were fighting to reach the ship.

The horn let out a loud blast and the smoke thickened in the air above the funnel. Mariam’s husband waved his ticket in the air so the soldiers would
let them through and they joined the line for the front gangplank.

‘Tickets ready,’ shouted the man with the megaphone from the foot of the gangplank.

They passed through the metal barrier and onto the empty quay, free of the crowd which surged and shouted from behind them. The woman asked Malik, ‘Do you have your ticket ready?’