The Dragonfly Sea

by Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor

  * * *

  —

  Shouts and pounding outside her cabin door. Ayaana woke up from a dream in which she had been running after the poet and mystic Rabi’a. She stumbled to the door, a bedsheet wrapped around her body, but when she slid it open she did not recognize the shouting man on the other side. He grabbed her wrist, saying, “Emergency! Come with me now.” Ayaana heard foghorns, a loudspeaker, a woman somewhere saying, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” With a clumsy lurch, sweating, bewildered Ayaana allowed herself to be dragged in the direction of the ship’s engine rooms. Numb. Barefoot. She stubbed her small toe on something and cried out. “Hurry, miss,” was all the man said.

  * * *

  Dark green metal door. Hole in the steel wall, weak lights within. Crouching, Ayaana entered. She felt the blood on her foot. Buttons and lights from equipment blinked on and off in the long room. Shelves laden with food, water, first-aid items, more blankets. As three crew members prepared to drag the thick steel door shut, a full-figured woman tumbled in. The men triple-bolted the lock.

  Trembling, the woman Delaksha looked around the room. She was in a knee-length glittering black body-fitting nightgown, a fashionably oversized silk Pink Camellia dressing gown, and incongruous peep-toe heels. The white bandage around her hand looked like a fashion accessory. There were tears on her face. In the turmoil of the rush for safety, Delaksha had been rooted to the spot by the vision of a man apart—visible, it seemed, only to her. Detached from the chaos, he had crouched as might an old, giant boulder in a blustery river. A rifle rested by his foot. It wasn’t the surprise of this or his camouflage-pattern bulletproof vest that caused Delaksha to gasp; it was the sight of a small fluttering bird in his hand, over which he chirped in tenderness. She spied on him. He might have seen her, for he shut his door at once. But in that moment, all her dread subsided. Just then, another set of humans rushing for the safe room pulled her along with them.

  * * *

  —

  A young voice spoke to her: “Don’t be afraid.”

  Whiff of jasmine mixed with rose. Delaksha turned her neck to look, nose to Ayaana’s skin. She found and clasped Ayaana’s hand. In a half-sob she whispered, “A giant just kissed a little broken birdling.”

  Ayaana held her hand. Touch, like the soul, cannot lie. It is an anchor in uncertainty, like some of the sounds that words make: Giant. Kiss. Birdling. Ayaana waited. Delaksha wiped her eyes. To Ayaana: “Sit with me, you lovely creature.”

  Ayaana moved.

  Teacher Ruolan sat on the other side of Delaksha in a red nightgown, lips slightly parted on a pale, powdered face. Ayaana clutched her bedsheet, aching for her mother, Muhidin, and Pate with such vehemence she almost vomited. Her blood-sticky toe throbbed.

  “My name is Delaksha Tarangini,” the woman told Ayaana, “and this must be Miz Rio Lin—sounds Brazilian. You two are as thick as baobabs, aren’t you? Your heads always in a huddle.” She reached for Ayaana’s hand.

  Touch. It anesthetized the fear, distracted them from the thumps coming from the outside world. Time disappeared.

  Ayaana’s voice was soft. “What’s happening?”

  “Pirates, probably,” Delaksha said.

  “They kill?” Shu Ruolan asked.

  Delaksha adjusted her nightgown. She started to braid Ayaana’s hair as she mused: “We have too much to try to do…right? Would be wrong to exit the world now. It is necessary to demand good things of life. I have informed God…Am I talking too much? Always do when I’m nervous, ha-ha. What a kerfuffle. Would make a Carthusian scream. Terribly exciting, horribly frightening. The pirates—they don’t want to kill hostages, just require them as fund-raisers. Very corporate.” Delaksha’s voice faltered. She imagined her husband being contacted for her ransom. He would pay only so that he could emerge as a hero, complete with photographs. “I’d rather die,” Delaksha said to herself.

  Ayaana turned to Delaksha, whose thoughts had flitted in the direction of the giant she had seen. Such a presence did not suffer terrors. She could believe in him. He had saved a bird from its fears. Delaksha lifted her face to sniff Ayaana’s shoulder. Her scent. “Gulab Jal?”

  “What?”

  “Who is the scent by?”

  “My mother.” Ayaana needed to say the name, use it as a talisman. “Munira.” Relief. Mother as talisman.

  “Must get some for myself. Why’re you going to China?”

  “Study,” answered Ayaana.

  “Fascinating.”

  Teacher Ruolan rubbed her nose and eyes.

  The interminable jabbering of this zhutou, the sow, was squeezing her skull. Teacher Ruolan ached for decorum, delicacy, and harmony. She longed for order. She ached for her home, her two Siamese cats, the firmness of earth, and her mother. Wouldn’t this woman just stop talking? She adjusted herself to jab an elbow into Delaksha, as if in error, and murmured a fake apology. She jabbed Delaksha again. The ship lurched.

  “The proverbial tight spot, heh-heh, isn’t it?” Delaksha shifted. “Life and people shouldn’t be forced into small holes. But here we are. Dying would be a bore. I’d be very cross. Death should be elegant; don’t you think?”

  Shu Ruolan had to ask, even though it wounded her to direct the question to Delaksha: “Do they hurt women?”

  Delaksha tilted her head. “Hadn’t thought of that.” She turned to Ayaana. “S’pose you know ’bout the itty-bits of life, dear—birds, bees, and other beasts? You are Muslim. Ought to help. They don’t rape Muslims…unless you are the wrong kind of Muslim”—she peered into Ayaana’s face—“which you may be, poor dear. Stay close to me. I wore my Louboutins. Sturdy creatures. They will be good for at least four broken pirate balls.”

  A fresh wave of fear; its pungent stench. The ghosts of things undone. Delaksha touched Ayaana’s hair. “How do you say your name?”

  Ayaana wanted to say “Abeerah.” Here she could be the other Ayaana. A pause. “Ayaana. Abeerah,” she said.

  Delaksha said, “I loove your voice. Makes one invoke traveling and coffee. Oh, stop! Don’t cry. We shall not be harmed. I have told God that I shall not die here. And neither will you. I intend to die in my bed: satin sheets, and very warm. What do you think? God is such a gentleman. He has to keep his end of the deal.” Delaksha stretched her legs out, flexing her toes. “Do you like my shoes?” A cracking sound from stressed joints.

  Suddenly Ayaana began to giggle.

  Delaksha turned to her. “Hysteria, darling, is really not healthy at a time like this.”

  Ayaana tried to stop, but she sputtered, and more laughter spilled out. So this was life? At first, Teacher Ruolan ground her teeth, an audible sound. Then her rage dissipated as she heard Ayaana’s high, ringing laugh, which was as young and fresh as September rain. A smile appeared on Teacher Ruolan’s mouth. Ayaana saw it. Both women’s eyes widened. A glimmer of warmth passed from one to the other. The moment lingered, then dissipated. Teacher Ruolan retreated into herself, remembering to sulk. She frowned. She would have to have a word with the ship leader about unruly passengers—she speared Delaksha with a look—a bad egg who could influence an already complicated assignment with the rather dense Descendant. Destruction in this Western Ocean? She shuddered. Destiny as mirror—a poetic ending. Please, no. She turned to focus on the attending two-man crew, who were watching the safe-room door as if expecting an alien to materialize.

  * * *

  —

  The last time the MV Qingrui/Guolong had been swarmed, off the Bab al-Mandab Strait, an Iranian missile frigate had responded to the ship’s distress call. When it showed up, alarms blaring and guns showing, the pirates had withdrawn. It had been a good-humored stand-down. Whooping, shrieks, and amused insults: “Nabadgelyo, safar wanaagsan”—Farewell, travel well. A promise to meet again, God willing. Lai Jin could not publicly admit his admiration for the men who had redefin
ed the world’s maritime rules, and whose boldness had brought back adventure to these waters. The courage of seemingly small men who were able to cause all the world’s great navies to scramble around the Indian Ocean hoping to stop them. Lai Jin had stood at the rail in subtle salute to the sea rogues in their small, fast boats, watched their frothy water trail, and wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to be one of them.

  Now.

  Game on.

  Like jogging along a precipice. God willing. Or not. Captain Lai Jin had, of course, officially “not seen” any of the weaponry his second engineer and team had hauled in and assembled on board. The night when the chief officer reduced the ship’s speed to “allow an engine check,” a skulking dark green speedboat was able to catch up with the cargo ship. On board, and off the record, was a four-man crew, whose baggage included rocket-propelled grenades and automatic rifles. The ship’s crew operated as the pirates did—out of jurisdiction, disguised, armed, and sailing under false pretenses. The crew were occasional fishermen, one of them an avid sports fisherman who had netted a record-sized marlin off the Pemba Channel. The men stood rigid before the second engineer, who was the most public senior face of a private security company that had focused its services on Indian Ocean maritime needs, made lucrative by pirates, whose well-being and growth he prayed for every day and night. Pirates had made all of them very wealthy.

  The passenger Nioreg Marie Ngobila was linked to the same outfit through offshore companies, but was loaned to the ship courtesy of an older, longer-established band of brother soldiers who sought or created wars for the pleasure of battle and for cash or kind. “Kind” now included crude-laden oil tankers, mining concessions, and shares in Fortune 500 companies.

  If such a matter should ever come to hazy public light, captains like Lai Jin could legitimately deny any knowledge of the actual existence of security people aboard their ships.

  Code yellow.

  Lai Jin sounded the foghorn, increased his speed to 20.2 knots, and radioed ships in the vicinity about the “threat of pirate attack.” The pursuing speedboats were on his tail, moving at almost 27 knots. Code yellow. The air crackled. A sardonic thought struck Lai Jin: Admiral Zheng He would approve. Show strength. Give room to the human inclination for self-preservation. Say little. Choose harmony. Lai Jin blinked. An image wafted into his mind, like the scent of night jasmine—the Descendant.

  Sudden irritation. He was being obliged to succeed. He was now forced to act, by fate, pirates, and stupid bureaucrats. Choicelessness. In danger, with danger, through danger, life was fluid, clear, and tangible. He preferred spending his life with ghost memories and companion shadows. Lai Jin loved his sea as a recluse loved his hermitage. Stripped bare-to-minimum rules, single-hearted focus, simplicity; but life on the sea was subject to mystery, and, because he was captain, he chose the way. He was king of a crag. His life had felt so well defined. Blood flooded the surface of his skin. He was remembering Shanghai Accent and the rose-scented consequences of his whims. After this voyage, he promised himself, he would find another path—something that further limited his interactions with people.

  Thump!

  The on-board RPG lit up the night. A round of ammunition battled the noise of sea waves, scattering fire into the darkness like giant deadly fireflies. Thump! The eight pursuing boats slowed down, accompanied by a flurry of shouts. Insults? Then the first boat spun around, away from the ship, followed by the others. There was no laughter that night, no mock farewell. Apart from the waves and the creatures of darkness, everything turned rather quiet. Outside, a deep-violet sky, a smattering of stars. Lai Jin watched these from his bridge. Feeling the pulse and flow of the ocean’s current, like a giant serpent beneath his feet. Feeling this other hunger-desire of his: an ache to be possessed by this wilder face of life, this ravenous friend who pushed him out of commonplace shadows. Lai Jin increased his ship’s speed, but then eased back. He had lost the pirates. By the time the ship was back on course, the weapons and accessories, such as night goggles, that had been on display had disappeared from sight. The men would also retrieve rocket-propelled grappling hooks and ladders, evidence of the pirates’ attempt to board. The evidence would end up, with the weapons, at the bottom of the deep blue sea. Less paperwork. When they reached the Gulf of Aden, they could depend on the protection of any one of the many world navies that continuously lurked there.

  Word would pass to the pirate mother ship, and then up and down other pirate groups, that the Qingrui/Guolong was armed. The MV Qingrui/Guolong would not be bothered again. Lai Jin assumed an air of normalcy.

  His passengers! Lai Jin grunted. “Chengke.” He made the command to proceed sound offensive. His chief officer flinched as he took the helm.

  Captain Lai Jin descended to the deck to consult with the gathered crew. Half an hour later, the occupants of the safe room heard a knock in code on the steel door. The crew unhinged and dragged the steel door aside. Bright lights drenched the ship. The exiting passengers rubbed their eyes, hands shading their faces, as Captain Lai Jin apologized for inconveniencing them. He said they had needed to assess an uncertain situation lest it risk the passengers’ safety. Thankfully a false alarm, he added.

  * * *

  —

  Teacher Ruolan observed the stateliness of the ship leader, his harmonious strength and cultivated manners. She admired unobtrusive leadership, a sign of inner courage. Just then, Delaksha, who was pressing her groin with her fist, announced, “I must pee-pee.” Teacher Ruolan glowered at this unsalvageable barbarian.

  Buzzing in Ayaana’s ears, throb of foot, an uncommon high. She looked back at the safe room. It had shattered boundaries. The wind grabbed her curls and wrapped them around her face, and her sheet floated around her body. Firm hand at her elbow: Teacher Ruolan. Ayaana turned toward the sea, wanting to see the world anew. Captain Lai Jin’s look got in her way. He held her look. The world divided: their world, the others’ world. His eyes stopped on her hennaed left arm. She retracted it as if touched. He said something. She did not understand. Teacher Ruolan dragged her forward. Uneven steps. Ayaana stumbled into her cabin, pulling her arm away from Teacher Ruolan.

  [ 41 ]

  Echoes of images from last night’s mercurial world: a shattering of existential guarantees. There was a short woman of many curves and many words, there was her teacher’s smile; there was a captain with his question-in-the-eyes look. She had sat in a steel room waiting to know if she might live or die. Ayaana sat on her bed, head on her knees. When she started awake, the ocean was still murmuring, Ni shi shei? She crawled into her bunk to try to sleep.

  * * *

  —

  Last night’s happening had reduced the passengers’ reserve toward one another. They chatted together around the breakfast table, with dim sum, and green tea in glasses, savoring food born from a makeshift steward’s blend of experiences, as they all expressed doubt at the captain’s denials.

  “I know what I saw,” declared Delaksha.

  Ayaana listened, fascinated by how Delaksha oozed into spaces, places, and others’ opinions. Shu Ruolan had tried to say that it was better to believe the ship leader for the sake of harmony. Delaksha replied, “Capital Bull and Shit.” That was when the bulk of Nioreg filled the entrance. He sauntered in and sat at his usual brown table for two facing the entrance. As he adjusted his body to the too-small chair, he tucked a napkin into his blue-black Mobutu shirt. The steward brought him his breakfast tray.

  Delaksha had stopped mid-flow. She was silent. Her spoon hovered above her plate. Then her fingers tapped a tattoo on the table. She inhaled before she swiveled to stare directly at Nioreg. “Come and sit with us,” she said.

  Nioreg looked toward the door. Delaksha said, “You weren’t with us in the safe room last night.”

  “Non,” he said without turning his head.

  “Exempted from the drill?�
��

  “I prefer sleep.” Nioreg chewed his food.

  “With all the noise?”

  Nioreg popped a dim sum into his mouth. Delaksha sniffed her aromatic green tea. Sensing a tempest brewing, trying to distract her, Ayaana told Delaksha, “I like your dress.” It was a silky mauve floral-print dress with an orchid motif. But Delaksha’s mouth puckered as if she were about to cry. She gave Ayaana a look of such emptiness that Ayaana gasped. Delaksha turned to Nioreg, her voice urgent. “I saw you.”

  No reply.

  Teacher Ruolan then pushed back from the table and tilted her head meaningfully at Ayaana, who leapt from her seat, scrubbing her mouth. Ayaana set off, her limp noticeable. She crossed the threshold, into a view of the dark blue sea, dark blue clouds, waves that were rounded smooth and filled up, not breaking. Ayaana’s heart eased.

  “How is the wee bird?” she heard Delaksha demand of her prey. “Answer me that at least.”

  “Non,” replied the man.

  * * *

  —

  That night, after the passengers and crew had consumed portions of snow peas and garlic, chicken in soy sauce, and stir-fried beef with spring onions, and savored conversations and sweet-and-sour after-dinner intimacies, the morning squall brewed and stirred by Delaksha broke. Captain Lai Jin, whose presence might have prevented the detonation, was absent.

  “What kind of bird is it?” Delaksha called to Nioreg, her voice shrill. Nioreg stared unmoving at his water glass. “Just tell me the name of the bird you saved,” she insisted.