Lifeboat

by Zacharey Jane

  By the time we reached my office a hard, dirty breeze had sprung up, oddly cool under the warm mid-morning sun. Even I was glad to be on dry land. I clutched my jacket about me and squinted to prevent grit blowing into my eyes. It was a relief to reach the office vestibule, but no calm awaited us there.

  As I walked through the door of my section, a wave of voices broke over me and every face turned towards me. Colleagues, who usually greeted my daily arrival with no more than a nod, were standing, crowding about me. I felt like I was stuck amongst the goats again, and looked back to the doctor for help. He stood in the passageway, stranded by this strange tide of concern.

  ‘Where have you been?’ they asked.

  Hands reached out to touch and pat me. Then the circle parted and my boss arrived, as immaculate as ever in white, but hurrying most uncharacteristically. When she reached me, she took both my shoulders in her hands and hugged me to her chest.

  ‘Thank god you’re safe,’ she said. I couldn’t say a word, pressed to her as I was. ‘Thank you, everybody,’ she called over the top of my head. ‘Back to work, please.’

  The crowd about us fell away. She let go her embrace, only to take me firmly by the arm and march me towards her office. I looked behind, gesturing frantically to the doctor that he should follow, which he did, unnoticed until my boss tried to close the door in his face. He put out a hand and stepped forward.

  ‘How do you do?’ he said, smiling. She looked surprised, but shook his hand.

  ‘Very well, thank you. Who are you?’

  ‘I brought him. He’s a psychiatrist,’ I said.

  ‘Well, that explains everything,’ she replied dryly. ‘We may need him yet.’

  She waved the doctor in and closed the door.

  ‘Now tell me, please,’ she said, as she strode back to her desk. ‘Where have you been and what the hell has been going on?’

  She sat down behind her desk. ‘You’ve been missing since yesterday. We assumed the worst.’

  ‘I went to see the doctor,’ I said.

  ‘You were gone all night.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, a sick feeling rising up from my feet. ‘I checked at the hospital before I went. I thought I could make the trip to the doctor’s and back in time but the ferry timetable was wrong. I had to spend the night at his house.’

  My boss looked like she’d been awake half the night.

  ‘We were so worried. We thought they’d taken you with them.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I asked, the sick feeling reaching my throat. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your precious castaways, that’s who. We thought they’d kidnapped you, or worse. They’ve escaped.’

  Nothing made sense.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Why did they escape? Because we found out who they are. Or who he is, anyway. We’re assuming she is some sort of collaborator. We thought they’d taken you as leverage. They are very dangerous criminals and you would probably not have been the first hostage they’ve taken.’

  ‘Excuse me, please,’ said the doctor. ‘I think there must have been a mistake.’

  My boss looked at him coldly. I was reminded of my mother superior.

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘I can vouch for the woman – that’s what I’m here for. I know her.’

  She sat back in her chair, expressionless.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘She was a patient of mine. I have been expecting her arrival here daily. And I can assure you, madam, that she is not a dangerous criminal.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but the man has been positively identified as a wanted criminal. If, and this will have to be proved, she is your ex-patient, I am afraid she has fallen into bad company since you last knew her.’

  Then before the doctor could argue she rounded upon me.

  ‘Didn’t you get the message from security yesterday?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I had to see the doctor as soon as possible. It was urgent.’

  ‘Not as urgent as this,’ she snapped, pressing her long fingernail into the desk as if she hoped to drill through it. ‘Since their arrest your castaway has been identified by two other sailors from the same boat, one of whom witnessed him strangle a man and throw the body overboard. He fits the description of a pirate captain, wanted in most neighbouring countries. We are still awaiting Interpol identification. I don’t have to tell you how serious this is.’

  She paused.

  ‘Firstly, why weren’t all the appropriate checks made with the police department, if not Interpol? Secondly, why was this man allowed out at night? Unguarded.’

  I shook my head, but could not look her in the eyes.

  ‘This man is a killer and you have been treating him like your favourite uncle. I hear you had them to stay in your home for the weekend. Do you realise the danger you were putting yourself in? Not to mention the reputation of this department. I had no idea. Give me their file, please.’

  She held out her hand, clicking her fingers. I bent down and fumbled in my briefcase, glad of the distraction. As I passed the file to my boss the doctor stepped forward and put a firm hand upon my shoulder.

  ‘I cannot vouch for the man,’ he said. ‘I have no idea who he is. However, she is a respected member of society, which can be confirmed with one telephone call, if you will not take my word for it. I can only think that her male companion has coerced her in some way.’

  ‘No,’ I cried, ignoring the warning squeeze he gave my shoulder. ‘No, that is not true. He wouldn’t do that.’

  My boss looked up from the file. ‘It seems he has duped you too, then. There is nothing in here. Have you nothing on them?’

  She pushed the file away and frowned at me.

  ‘No, they have amnesia, remember?’

  ‘Or say they have. A convenient malady.’

  She turned to the doctor. ‘I’d be prepared to give some credence to your story, if it were not for the woman’s own behaviour.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  She reached forward and retrieved a file from her in-tray.

  ‘It’s here in black and white, translated by yourself. By her own admission she is his wife.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ the doctor said. ‘Her husband is dead.’

  ‘People remarry, sir.’

  ‘Not this woman.’

  ‘Well,’ my boss said, ‘it seems that the male detainee agrees with you. It says here that he denied being the woman’s husband. If this is so, it would go a long way to explaining her disappearance.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘The man broke out of the hospital room where he was being held. She could not have assisted him because, apart from the obvious difficulties, she was still under heavy sedation.’

  ‘What did you do to her?’ the doctor demanded.

  ‘Only what was necessary for her safety, I assure you,’ said my boss coldly. ‘Your friend here obviously hasn’t told you what she did to the face of our chief of security. Despite that, she was taken to hospital to be cared for, but disappeared from there at the same time as the man. When we couldn’t find you,’ she nodded at me, ‘we assumed they’d taken you hostage. But perhaps it’s she who is the hostage, although that doesn’t explain why she tried to defend him.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the doctor, ‘if they don’t know who they are, it is possible that she has formed a bond with this man, and he’s taking advantage of her.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ I said, finding my voice at last, dismayed by the doctor’s attitude. ‘He really doesn’t know who he is – he isn’t lying.’

  ‘A clever ruse,’ said my boss. ‘I see in your notes that she regained consciousness after him whilst aboard the lifeboat. It could have been he who rendered her unconscious to begin with.

  ‘Do not underestimate this man. He’s responsible for the deaths of dozens of people. And now he’s at large somewhere on this island. It’s very worrying.’

  ‘But you don’t
know it’s him,’ I said. ‘You have no proof that he is this criminal.’

  ‘And you have no proof that he is not. Your assumption of his innocence has been quite injudicious. Dangerous, in fact, to you and the whole department.’

  She paused a moment, before continuing, her voice less severe. She may have seen the tears, which were now streaming down my cheeks.

  ‘And if he is not guilty, why has he broken out of jail? Isn’t this tantamount to an admission of guilt?’

  ‘That is not guilt – that is fear,’ I said.

  ‘He has nothing to be scared of if he simply tells the truth,’ she said, closing the file.

  ‘How can you say that? He is a stranger, he doesn’t speak the language, he doesn’t know where he is or who he is. He has no family, no friends, no support. And then you bring police and lock him away, threaten him, tell him he has done all these things that he can’t remember doing. Of course he tried to escape. What would you do? It’s quite predictable,’ I said, raising my voice, standing, leaning forward over her desk.

  Her face flushed red and she pushed her chair back to stand. She was much taller than I.

  ‘If you had been there yesterday, as requested, you could have judged for yourself.’

  She was right. If I had been there yesterday, where I should have been, none of this would have happened. They had needed a friend and I hadn’t been there.

  ‘But you’re safe,’ she continued. ‘And we can leave everything else in the hands of the police. Although I’m afraid your friend may be in danger,’ she added, to the doctor.

  ‘How so?’ he asked.

  ‘The police are assuming that he will have armed himself by now and are responding accordingly. If cornered … let us say that he doesn’t have a reputation as a negotiator.’

  I looked at her in disbelief.

  ‘May I go home?’ I asked.

  ‘Home? Why?’ asked my boss.

  ‘I don’t feel very well.’

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s safe …’

  ‘The doctor will be with me.’

  She looked from me to him. ‘I suppose so then; you certainly don’t look well.’

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ said the doctor. He picked up my briefcase and led me to the door.

  ‘Please take care,’ called my boss. ‘It’s not safe whilst they are at large.’

  I almost laughed, for I wanted nothing more than to see them.

  We walked back through the office, aware of furtive looks and whispers around us. A few colleagues caught my eye and smiled or waved. I felt grateful for their concern, but did not want to linger. I needed to get home and speak with the doctor in private, for despite the seamen’s identification, despite the supposed facts, I still did not believe that my castaway was a ruthless killer.

  *

  Outside felt gloomy, strangely dark despite the shining sun, as if the shadows were straining from their domain. I remembered the storm – it would be upon us soon. Then I realised where the castaways had run.

  ‘Oh no,’ I whispered, bending over, hands on knees like an exhausted runner. The doctor knelt down beside me.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  I took a few deep breaths, holding my midriff, unable to tell whether it was the storm or the realisation of the castaways’ plight that was hurting me.

  ‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ I said, trying to rise.

  ‘Wait a moment – take your time.’

  ‘No, we have to go,’ I said, straightening up.

  He heard the urgency in my voice and looked around. ‘Wait here – don’t move.’

  He took off at a run down the street, waving his arms like a drunken signalman. It looked quite bizarre until I realised he was flagging a taxi, indicating to the driver to turn about. Within moments we were inside, on the way to my house.

  ‘And hurry, please,’ I said.

  I took the time during the cab ride to collect my thoughts, praying that I was wrong, although I knew I wasn’t. We reached my house with no further conversation and I knew as soon as we walked through the door that I was not wrong. My map box was closed, but it had been moved to the kitchen table. I didn’t need to look inside to know that it was empty. I picked it up and hugged it to my chest.

  ‘They’ve taken my boat,’ I said, leaning against the kitchen wall. I dropped my forehead onto the cool wood of the box, seeking comfort in the familiar smell. ‘They’ve taken my boat and there’s a storm coming.’

  The doctor frowned, then asked: ‘Is there? Even so, if he is who they say he is he can sail.’

  ‘He can. But it won’t make any difference. No one should be out in a storm such as this – even commercial vessels would turn back to shelter.’

  ‘He has survived this long.’

  I lowered the box and stared at the doctor.

  ‘He’s no pirate.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  I thought that in light of the storm, his identity was immaterial.

  ‘He’s no pirate,’ I repeated softly.

  ‘Won’t he hear the storm warnings and turn back?’

  I shook my head, exasperated that he didn’t understand.

  ‘What warnings? Look outside.’

  The sun was still shining, no storm clouds gathered. This storm would hit with no warning, dropping from the sky like an avenging angel.

  ‘He might see it ahead and turn back?’

  ‘No, they won’t be able to tell what they’re sailing into, but they know what they’re running from. He won’t turn back.’

  ‘Why has he taken her? If not as a hostage, then what?’ the doctor said. ‘He risked a lot by carrying her with him.’

  ‘He loves her. Would you leave a loved one behind?’

  ‘If it’s safer for her here?’

  ‘But he doesn’t know that. They’re strangers in this country – they don’t speak the language. And I wasn’t there to help them.’

  ‘But it’s an admission of guilt to run.’

  I threw my precious box to the floor in anger.

  ‘Only if you know you are guilty. Remember what he has forgotten.’

  ‘Or says he has,’ said the doctor softly, reaching out a hand to calm me. ‘I don’t think you should dismiss their allegations so easily. He may be who they say he is.’

  ‘He is not,’ I shouted. ‘He cannot be. And she loves him. I’ve seen them every day. I know them. You heard how she reacted to his arrest.’

  ‘That can be easily explained; it’s quite common for the captive to empathise with the captor – it’s a survival mechanism.’

  The doctor dropped his voice, almost pleading with me. ‘And think, who else does she have but him?’

  I turned away.

  ‘Whatever the truth,’ he continued, ‘she’s not safe.’

  My continued silence brought him to my side.

  ‘Are you alright? How are you feeling?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ I said, trying to smile for him.

  ‘We can’t tell the right or wrong of it,’ he said, ‘but if you’re alright, I think I should go to the police. If they do track them down, I could be of assistance.’

  I nodded, wanting him gone, for I had just seen something: a small corner of paper poking out from beneath the fallen map box, a note. It was not true what the doctor said, she did have someone else – me. I’d failed them so far, but this time I would not. I hoped the note told in which direction they had headed, for I was not going to let them sail to their deaths.

  But I wouldn’t risk the doctor’s life as well, and I couldn’t let him try to stop me going. So I just nodded and smiled.

  ‘That’s a good idea. I think I might have a lie down anyway.’

  He gave me a quick hug.

  ‘Don’t worry – it’ll be fine, we’ll find them. Maybe they’re just hiding somewhere.’

  I went to the next room and lay down upon the sofa, feigning fatigue. The doctor followed me.

  ‘I’ll go then,
’ he said. ‘You have a rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And would you lock the doors, please?’

  I waited five minutes before scrambling to my feet and retrieving the note from the kitchen. It was in an unfamiliar hand, his, I presumed. It read:

  My child, please forgive us. I know we are taking what you value most, but I have no choice. That we leave without seeing you saddens me greatly, but I willfind a way to contact you as soon as we are safe. I plan to sail due north and take our chances in the islands there. You are ever in our hearts and thoughts, thank you for everything. With much love, Yourfriend

  THE CASTAWAYS

  There was a man and there was a woman, who met and married in sunlit days, before war took him to fighting and death, and her to the edge of reason.

  ‘Love has died’she said, shredding the telegram with her gnashing teeth.

  ‘In a foxhole in the desert’ she cried, tossing the pieces into the still air of the delivery room and watching them fall like confetti to the floor.

  ‘But love can be reborn’ whispered the nuns, who fluttered about her bed like moths drawn to the light of life.

  Then the woman’s cries of pain were drowned by the bombs thatfell on London, and when the woman awoke she saw that the confetti had turned to rice about a grave.

  The death of a child is the death of hope. Without hope the woman locked herself away from the world, in a place where the wallpaper whispered to the shrouded souls within and Don Quixote and the devil kept company in their minds.

  Through nights devoid of dreams the woman stared up at the moon. In daylight hours doctors practised ancient Chinese arts upon her brain, hoping to draw the pain from the wound by way of wax candles to the ears. But her heart had shattered in the blast that took her child.

  This woman wore the deaths of a husband and a daughter next to her skin, keeping the warmth out and the cold in.

  But the man was still living. One grave in Libya lay empty, a mistake common in war where victory ignores the number of the dead. With no warning he returned, to find his family gone. What pain to have lived through war only to find everything worth fighting for has died.