by Joseph Kanon
“A help? How?”
The woman lifted her head and yelled something at Alexei, a curse with a raised fist. Again, a denial. Leon glanced at him. What was he saying? I wasn’t there? I wasn’t part of it? I couldn’t stop it? Some version of what he’d said to Leon. But was it true? Did the sister know? Had anybody actually seen him? And for a fleeting second, his stomach sinking with the dip of the boat, he didn’t want it to be true, wanted Alexei not to have been there at all, wanted him at least to claim the fragile innocence of those who just let it happen.
Mihai was speaking Romanian to the woman, gathering her up, his arm around her.
“Go back,” he said to the others. “It’s a mistake.” The woman didn’t hear this, inside herself now, only Leon catching his eye, dismayed. Lying for him. But what was the alternative? No right thing to do. He steered Alexei toward the bridge, the crowd still milling on the deck, confused.
“How a mistake? How could she make such a mistake?”
But they had all been on the long marches, crammed in refugee trucks, and they knew how minds finally snapped, pointing out of windows at everybody because everybody had done it.
Mihai handed the Romanian woman over to another woman, then turned to the crowd. “Go back now. There’s no time for this.”
“Who are these men? You stop the boat for them, so who?”
“Nobody. Cargo. I told you—” The rest drowned out by the siren, so loud it cut through everything—the people shouting on deck, the lumbering motor, tarps flapping in the wind—a giant whoop, meant to startle. A loudspeaker rasped something garbled in Turkish. The crowd rushed over to the railing. A police boat approaching the side, signal lamps flashing, searchlights sweeping up toward the railing.
“We have to stop,” David yelled from the bridge. “They’re signaling.”
Mihai said nothing, looking down.
“They can shoot if we don’t.”
Guns already drawn on the police boat. But how did they know? Lurking in shadows since Bebek? But not in the broad stretches where they would have had to be seen. The deal made with Mihai, no one else. Blood money.
Mihai nodded to David, then looked at Leon, face strained.
“Prepare to board.” The loudspeaker, still in Turkish, so the passengers, already rattled, began to panic.
Mihai held his hands up to them for quiet, then leaned over the side with a megaphone. “What do you want? We’re the Victorei. Our papers are in order.”
Leon leaned forward to hear, keeping his face out of the light. Maybe a routine check, another bribe, not given away after all.
“Police. Your new passengers.”
A quick turn of his head, Mihai meeting Leon’s eyes. Any police, David puts you off. It’s understood? It’s not for you, this ship. Endgame. And for an instant Leon felt an odd light-headed release, the clock stopping. Mihai looked from Leon to Alexei, then turned back to the rail.
“What new passengers? We are only ourselves.”
“Yes, yes.” A cocky gravelly sound on the loudspeaker. Gülün. “All right. Passenger search. A ladder?” A second’s pause, Gülün drawing his gun. “Now.”
Mihai nodded to two sailors to lower the ladder, then turned to the crowd again. “Listen to me. Do you want to go to Palestine?”
A shocked nod of heads.
“Then do what I say. Go back. Say nothing. Nothing.”
“But what—”
“Nothing! Or I leave this ship. They’ll take me away.” He waited.
A silence, only the police boat still shrieking.
“Do you understand? You saw nothing. No one. Take her down below,” he said, looking at the Romanian woman. “Give her something. The rest, tell them to stay in their bunks.”
“Ladder’s down,” the sailor shouted, a kind of alert.
“They’ll send us back,” Mihai said. “Understand?”
People began to move.
“And then maybe you’ll explain—”
“You can take over this ship any time you want,” Mihai said, then held out the megaphone.
The man looked down, then turned and headed for the stairs.
“Anyone else?” Mihai said.
Leon looked at him. Confronting everybody, spending what was left in his account, no reserves.
“Good.” He glanced over the rail. “Get ready,” he said, waving people back to their places, then went over to Leon and Alexei, suddenly at a loss, as if he’d forgotten about them. Shouts from the water, climbing feet banging against the hull.
“I’ll take him below,” Leon said, almost afraid to look at Mihai, the debt too great now.
“No. People know. Or they will. They’ll kill him. I don’t know how long I—”
“You want to give us up?” Leon said.
Mihai flicked his hand, brushing this off, then glanced around the deck, breathing in sharp intakes, finally beginning to panic.
“Is there another ladder? The other side?” Alexei said, thinking out loud.
“Ladder to what? There’s no boat.”
“To hide. We’ll hang on. Nobody’s going to look outside the boat.”
Mihai looked up at him, a kind of reluctant salute, then nodded.
They hurried across the deck, heads following them, and lifted the clump of ladder and flung it over the side, the anchor ropes barely noticeable in the coiled piles near the railings. The lifeboats, refuge for stowaways, were overhead, a different search area. From the other side of the ship, a shrill whistle, some signal to the search party that triggered involuntary cries on deck, the sound of roundups, whistles and boots. A woman started crying, burying her face in a man’s shoulder.
“I won’t sacrifice the ship,” Mihai said to Leon. “These people deserve—”
“I know.”
“Just pull us back up when it’s over,” Alexei said, a gruff familiarity.
Mihai stared at him. More noise from the police party, almost at the top, like a wake-up hand on his shoulder. “Quick,” he said, turning, putting his body between them and the police.
Alexei looked at the rope, then at Leon, suddenly nervous again.
“All right,” Leon said, going first.
He climbed over the railing and started backing down the rope steps, feeling for them, his last sight of the deck a row of heads watching him. One signal was all Gülün would need, one finger pointing. But the row didn’t move, huddling into itself, turning to Mihai now. Leon looked up. Nobody.
“Come on!”
Then a foot, another, working their way down until Alexei’s head was below the rail too, both of them dangling on the side of the ship, the wind slapping the bottom of the ladder against the hull. Leon kept going, past a row of portholes, his weight steadying the ladder. If this were a building he could make his way along the ledge to the window, climb in out of sight. To people who’d be waiting for them, the story everywhere now. Some rag in the mouth to muffle the sound, everything quick, no noise, then the splash of water, maybe not even heard on deck, another wave.
“Where are you going?” Alexei whispered, his hands gripping the rope.
“Out of sight.”
“Where, in the water?”
“A little further. Okay, here. Hang on.” The rough sisal began cutting into his palms. He shifted more weight to his legs, feeling the wind press into his back.
He could hear loud voices up top. Gülün bullying, eyes peering at him from under cap brims and shawls. Just one. But no one spoke. Do you want to go to Palestine? Worth everything.
A wave broke against the hull sending jets of spray upward, wetting the bottom of his pants, spattering drops on his neck, hands. A sudden light from the porthole to his right, maybe a flashlight going through the hold. Seeing the bodies stacked in bunks, a photograph from the war. Would the police ask them to get down, look behind everyone, or hurry through, anxious to get out of the smell before any hands could touch them. A baby started crying, wakened by the light.
Anothe
r wave sprayed icy water as the ship listed slightly. The rope ladder swung out from the hull. Leon looked down, a black void, then braced for the swing back, making his shoes take most of the impact. How long could they hang here, wet hands clutching rope? He shifted his weight again, feeling the strain in his arms. Not thinking anymore, not having to decide anything, just holding on. He had even stopped wondering what they were saying on deck, what Mihai would do if Gülün ordered the ship to turn around. But why would he? Unless he was sure Leon was on board. Not any ship, this ship. He thought of the hamam, the tram ride, but no one had been hovering behind, not even in his imagining. What had he said to Kay? More voices, closer to this side of the ship.
At first, he felt it was more spray from below and then he felt the drops on his head, random but steady. When he raised his face there were more, coming faster. He flattened himself against the rope, hunching his shoulders to keep the rain from dripping down his collar. Cold, seeping into his wool jacket. He heard Alexei swear to himself. But maybe it would make Gülün hurry, decide his tip had been wrong. If it had been a tip.
More flashlights sweeping through the sleeping quarters, bunk by bunk. At least they were dry there, not soaking on deck like the others. Another whistle signal, maybe calling the searchers back up top. How long before they gave up? You couldn’t get everybody in a roundup. People hid beneath floorboards, squeezed behind stairs. The wind came up again, blowing rain against the ship, and Leon shivered, his hands stiff with cold, clothes heavier, pulling at him.
Then a loud crash, a lifeboat being lowered off its davits.
“There’s some mistake. These people are refugees.” Mihai’s voice, closer now, the search party moving to this side.
“Take the cover off.” A policeman, not Gülün, the rest of his Turkish cut off by a freighter’s moaning foghorn, not too far off, the rain like a light curtain, making everything blurry.
The whistle blew again in the hold, lights moving away. Just the deck now and the lifeboats, hiding places exhausted. They were going to make it, hanging like bats in the dark.
The ship lurched in the wake of the passing freighter, the ladder swinging out again, farther this time, then crashing back to the hull, their shoes banging the metal, knuckles scraping. Alexei moaned. Then another swing, pushed by the momentum of the first, shoes hitting the side again.
A light appeared on top, someone shouting in Turkish.
“Nothing,” Leon heard Mihai say.
A bright shaft pointed downward, flashing, then fixed on where they had just been, the curve of the hull keeping them just out of its beams, stopping short, not strong enough to reach all the way to the water. Frantic shouts, Leon holding his breath, then a sudden burst of gunfire, an automatic spitting bullets.
“Stop!”
Leon flattened himself against the ladder, head tucked in. Maybe just a warning shot. Wouldn’t Gülün want them alive, a prize catch? Unless it didn’t matter to him, Leon guilty, Gülün commended either way. The hull was smooth, nothing to grab on to if the ladder swung again. Another burst. Leon could actually hear the shots hitting the water, feel a quick thud on the rope. They must be spraying bullets into the dark, just to see if there was anything to hit. And there would be, a matter of minutes before the ladder swung out again into the light.
“Idiot!” Gülün screaming now, the sound of running on deck, passengers whimpering in the background, the gunfire loud as bombs to them. Leon’s muscles locked still, waiting. “Don’t shoot! Alive, you idiot!” Wanting his day in court after all.
Leon glanced down. Black, nowhere to go, his body getting heavier in the wet clothes. He felt more drops on his hands, then looked at them. Not icy, warm, thicker. He moved his head to taste. Blood. Alexei dripping on him.
“Are you hit?”
“A scratch,” Alexei said, but panting, in trouble.
“Haul them up,” Gülün was yelling. “Get the searchlight.”
Alexei gave a stifled cry with the first jerk of the ladder. No winch, just hands heaving it up. They felt the ladder rise then stop again, bouncing, one of Alexei’s feet slipping from the rung, so that his hands took more weight. Leon looked up to see Alexei’s leg poking at the air, trying to find a footing again, then a new light, almost blinding. The police yanked the ladder again, shaking it, and Alexei’s other foot slipped, his body sliding down toward Leon, feet dangling, just his hands now, one of them dripping blood.
“There they are!” One of the policemen, pointing his gun into the light.
“Don’t shoot. Just get them up here. Help with the rope.”
Another pair of hands, a heave, this time with real force, just as a swell rolled the boat, the ladder swinging out as it rose, the jerk upward finally stronger than Alexei’s grip. His feet smashed into Leon’s head, then the rest of him, a rock slide, Leon’s hands leaving the rope without his being aware of it, just rolling into an endless fall, Alexei clinging to his jacket, dragging him, and then not there, only the shock of icy water.
For a second he was too stunned by the cold to register anything, almost unconscious, then all the sounds came, the shouts from up top, the ladder flapping back, the frantic splashing, Alexei spitting and gulping water. Leon moved toward him, suddenly followed by the light, which had picked them up. Alexei was flailing, slapping the water at random and gasping for air. I don’t like boats. Leon swam over, his clothes like weights. He tried to approach from behind, cup Alexei’s chin above water, lift him up to a float, something he could tow, everything he’d been taught. Boys who couldn’t swim would clutch at you, make things worse.
“Alexei. I’ve got you.” Meant to reassure, take away some of the panic. “Lie back.”
Gurgling, not hearing, just seeing Leon and grabbing on, a desperate clinging, his head slipping under, pushing himself back up again on Leon’s shoulders, wheezing for air. More shouts from the ship, the thwack of a life preserver hitting the water somewhere near, then nothing, the muffled quiet of underwater, Leon sinking under Alexei’s weight. He forced himself up, bobbing.
“Let go. I’ve got you. We’ll both—”
Then under again, swallowing water this time, Alexei on top, trying to climb on him, a human raft. Leon tried to move away but only managed to wriggle in place, as if he were wrapped in chains, and now he was sinking again and he realized, an ice pick of fear, that he could die. Saving Alexei. A man who’d do anything to survive, Leon nothing more than driftwood, something handy. His lungs began to burn, churning the same used air. And for a crazy second he thought of where he was, that he might drown somewhere in the view from Cihangir, Alexei’s hands still gripping his coat, taking him down too.
A hint of light-headedness, no time now. Get up. He turned his head, his mouth near Alexei’s hand, and bit down sharply. Only a second of release before the hand started clutching again, but enough for Leon to duck away, then surface, sucking air, Alexei still grasping his other hand. He looked over, their eyes locking, Alexei’s glassy with terror, and Leon saw what Alexei must have seen in the others, his victims, the terrible last moment when they knew they would die, a kind of animal bewilderment. Now his turn. All Leon had to do was let go of his hand, not responsible for any of it. An easier death, except for the frantic eyes, how the child must have looked, slipping from Anna’s grasp. And what if she had held on, pushed under by the thrashing, the child not even aware that Anna was taking water, sinking? He let his hand grow slack, making Alexei struggle to keep it, and he saw how it must have been, even the same dark water, Anna letting the hand slide away to save herself, not knowing the child would take her under either way.
Alexei made a noise, flinging his mouth back for air, arms flailing again, then his head dipped, as if he were being pulled under, and Leon imagined hands at his feet, Străuleşti hands clawing at his cuffs, proof of the rightness of things. Except things were never made right. They passed, that’s all.
He swam closer, pulling Alexei up, then holding him under the chin,
keeping his head above water. “Listen to me.” His voice rough hoarse.
Alexei’s hands came up again, grasping. Leon smashed down on them, pulling free, then caught Alexei’s coat as he was going under, twisting his body around so that Leon was behind as he yanked him back up, hand under his chin again. A violent sputtering.
“Fucking listen to me,” he said into Alexei’s ear. “I’ve got you. Do you understand? You’ll be okay if you do what I say. Do you understand?”
Alexei nodded, making an indistinct sound, his breath a ragged gurgling, his hands still punching the water.
“Stop,” Leon said. “Try to float.” A meaningless term, Alexei’s legs still scissoring beneath them. More sounds. “Stop, or I’ll let you go. I’ll let you go.” A muffled squeal, then the feet stopped, now rigid, a new deadweight, even heavier. “Relax. Let the water do the work. It’ll hold you.”
Another noise from Alexei’s throat, a yelp of disbelief. Weren’t there pools in Bucharest, lakes in the mountains? Why hadn’t he learned to swim? He tried to imagine Alexei as a boy, a kid in the streets, but no picture would come and he realized that he knew nothing about his life, that he was just a stranger who’d dropped in at the end of it, like the life preserver thrown from the deck. “I’m here,” he said.
Alexei stopped thrashing, so quiet that for a second Leon thought he was gone, but that would have made him stiffen and Leon felt instead his body growing limp, a giving in. He moved closer, the back of Alexei’s head resting against his chest, another breath, not as ragged, his body looser, moving with Leon’s as a wave lifted them, entirely in his hands. No escape hatch to the roof, gun drawn at the door, only Leon.
Leon looked up past the misty halo of the bright light, the deck railing crowded now, people yelling and waving their hands, seeing a different drama, a sea rescue. Mihai was motioning him left. He glanced over—the life preserver, bright white against the water. He paddled toward it.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Afraid any movement would startle him now.
On the deck, there were more whistles, instructions, a new rumbling from the passengers. Leon heard Gülün ordering the police boat to pick them up. In a few minutes they’d be caught, netted up like fish. Saving Alexei for what? Saving himself. To be a murderer, the running itself evidence against him. He grabbed on to the bobbing ring.
