by Philip Roy
There was a fresh breeze coming across the land. This was very welcome to me because the smell of the money was making me sick. I raised my head to look at the sea, but couldn’t see it. I had to stand up. When I did, the horizon was clear. No one knew we were here. I looked around. This was such a pleasant place; it was hard to believe that people were taken from here and sold into slavery. But they were. They went mostly to the Caribbean and America, but other places, too. What really surprised me was that the slave traders didn’t have to come inland to raid the villages themselves; they were able to buy the people from tribal chiefs. The chiefs sold their own people, or people from neighbouring tribes, to the traders. I didn’t know which would be worse: being kidnapped by strangers, or being sold by your own people. Probably being sold by your own people. The reason was the same in both cases—for money.
As I scrubbed each bill, turned it over, and scrubbed the other side, I thought of the family who had run away from me when they saw the money. Why had they been so afraid? Money was just money. It wasn’t evil. I stood up and scanned the horizon again. As I stared at the vast hazy ocean, I imagined old wooden sailing ships coming in and dropping anchor. Sailors would come ashore in rowboats, greet the tribal chiefs, and hand over money for slaves . . . I stopped. That was it. I remembered watching shows about the pirates in Somalia. It was the tribal chiefs who forced the young men into piracy—their own people—just as their ancestors had sold their own people to slave traders. No wonder people would be afraid of money around here. In their past, and in their present, their own chiefs were willing to trade them, or force them into a violent and dangerous life, just to make money. Now I understood why the sight of someone washing blood off money would have been frightening to a poor local family.
I cleaned another thousand dollars. My hands were tired now, and a little sore. The brush was rubbing the skin away from my fingernails and making them bleed. What a nuisance. On the other hand, I was a thousand dollars richer. I stood up to stretch my back and take another peek at the horizon. It was clear. Then, I looked at the portal of the sub. Strangely, it looked a little fatter than before. How could that be? I grabbed the binoculars and looked more closely. Directly behind the portal, near the horizon, was a motorboat, and it was coming fast. They had found us.
I grabbed the money and Little Laura’s cage. “Hollie! We have to go! Hollie?”
I didn’t see him. Where was he? I ran to the kayak. “Hollie!”
The pirates were only three or four miles away. They would be here in minutes. I dropped the cage and money into the kayak and pushed it into the water. Where was Hollie? We had to go now. If the pirates caught us, we were dead. “Hollie!”
He didn’t come. I couldn’t see Seaweed, either. I started to feel panic. I hated to go without Hollie, but would have to come back and find him later; otherwise, we’d both be dead. So, I paddled to the sub, opened the hatch, and carried Little Laura and the money inside. Then I climbed back out. There was a sound of a rifle shot in the distance, but it was far away. I raised the binoculars. It was the pirates all right. They were crowded in the boat, with guns in their arms. One of them was aiming, but couldn’t hit us from so far away, especially from a moving boat. I pulled up the anchor and prepared to shut the hatch. Now only my head was showing. I took a glance at the beach, and then I saw Hollie. He was in the water, swimming towards the sub. But he was too slow. “Hurry! Hollie! Hurry!”
There was no way he could make it here in time. I looked at the pirates. We had maybe a minute and a half at most. With a horrible sinking feeling, I climbed out, slipped into the water, and swam to Hollie as fast as I could. I grabbed him by the back of his neck and struggled back. There were more rifle shots now, and they were louder. Instead of climbing up the portal and exposing my body, I slithered inside like a snake, headfirst, holding Hollie in one hand. I went in upside down, bracing myself with the ladder, and let Hollie drop the last couple of feet. I closed the hatch, raced to the panel board, and hit the dive and battery switches all at the same time. Before we went under, I heard a bullet strike the portal.
I hoped they didn’t have grenades. If they did, they could cause us a lot of trouble as we went underneath them. The water was so shallow they would be able to follow us easily for a mile from the beach, until the sea floor dropped. And that is what they did. They followed us out, shooting the whole time. I tracked them with sonar, and could hear the faint sounds of gunshots. They were shooting into the water, even though it was useless for them. The bullets lost most of their power once they hit the water, and couldn’t hurt the steel hull anyway. They must have been wild with anger. Thank heavens they didn’t have grenades. Still, I sat at the control panel and shivered. It had been way too close. If I hadn’t looked for them just then, we’d probably be dead now. I just couldn’t take any more chances like that. We would sail away from here now, once we had picked up Seaweed. We would sail far away, and never come back.
Three miles from shore, I surfaced to periscope depth and scanned the water. The pirates were racing in circles, trying desperately to find us. I watched them for an hour. Sooner or later, they would get frustrated and give up. Then we could go back and find Seaweed. He could spot the periscope for miles from the sky. After we picked him up, we’d sail hundreds of miles away before we set foot on shore again. I didn’t think the pirates would follow us that far. They couldn’t follow us forever.
Chapter Ten
HUNDREDS OF MILES south, just south of Maputo, we were sitting in the water a few miles offshore. It was the middle of the afternoon, sunny and hot, with a very slight breeze passing over the open hatch. I was making pancakes, with raspberry jam and maple syrup. I could finally flip a pancake in the air and catch it in the pan without breaking it or dropping it on the floor. Seaweed, Hollie, and Little Laura were standing by my feet, watching every move, and hoping I would drop one. The air was a little smoky. The sub smelled a bit like a restaurant, which was a huge improvement.
I had just sat down and taken the first bite when the radar beeped. I glanced over and saw the light blinking on the screen. There had been surprisingly few vessels in the water all along the Mozambique coast, and I had gone out of my way to avoid them these past few days. But this vessel wasn’t coming from the north or south, it was coming from shore.
I put my plate down, picked up the binoculars, climbed the ladder, and scanned the water. There was nothing there. Not a thing. That was weird. I ducked my head inside and listened. The radar was still beeping. So, I looked more carefully, drawing the binoculars along the shoreline very slowly. Nope. There was nothing there. What the heck?
I jumped back inside and took another look at the radar screen. Whatever had been three miles away from us was now just a mile. The only thing that could move that fast was an airplane, or a helicopter. But I never heard one. I raced back up the portal and scanned the sky. Yup. There it was.
It was sort of an airplane. I couldn’t tell if it was really old, or really new. There was someone in it, but he wasn’t covered. He was pedalling with his legs, and swinging levers with his arms. There was a small engine in front, a propeller, and a pair of wings that looked like they were made of canvas. In the centre was a bicycle. He was pedalling as if he were in a race. But he was losing. The plane was coming down. He was going to hit the water.
At first he didn’t see me, until I waved with both of my arms over my head. And then he did. He made an awkward turn, losing more height, and steered towards us. But he wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t hear his engine because it wasn’t running. He was pedalling faster and faster, trying to stay aloft. The bicycle must have been hooked up to the propeller, and it was spinning, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in the air.
I watched him drift closer. He looked frantic. I wondered if he could swim. I jumped inside, switched on the engine, and motored towards him. Just as I poked my head out of the portal again, he plunged into the sea. He dropped like a dead bird.
; His plane didn’t sink right away, and he was clinging to it like somebody who couldn’t swim. As we approached, I cut the engine and drifted to a stop. He was staring at me with a mix of panic and curiosity. He was a few years older than me. “Are you okay,” I yelled?
He didn’t answer. He was trying to untangle himself. That was a good idea; his plane was going to sink. I grabbed the lifebuoy. “Do you want this?”
He looked up. “Is that a diesel-electric submarine?”
“Yes.”
He wrestled free of his contraption, but never took his eyes away from the sub. “Where are you from?”
“Canada.”
“Canada? What are you . . . ?”
“Can you swim?”
“No.” He said it as if it was not important. I threw the lifebuoy at him. “Here. Pull it over your head and I’ll haul you over.”
He pulled the lifebuoy over one shoulder and began thrashing at the water. I yanked hard on the rope. He tried to swim, in a panicky sort of way, but it was as if he didn’t even know what water was. His eyes were wild with panic, like an animal, yet he couldn’t seem to take them away from the sub. It was the worst attempt at swimming I had ever seen. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere but straight down if I hadn’t been pulling on the rope.
By the time he reached a handle and climbed halfway up, he was exhausted. I waited for him to catch his breath. When he did, he continued talking, as if he had never stopped. “Are you burning diesel fuel?”
“Of course. It’s a diesel engine.”
“You don’t have to, you know. You can convert it.”
“Convert it? Convert what?”
“Your engine. You don’t have to burn fossil fuels anymore. You can burn vegetable fat.”
“Vegetable fat? Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. My engine burns vegetable fat. It’s a lot better for the environment. Why would you burn diesel when you can burn vegetable fat? It’s cleaner, and it’s renewable. We have to stop burning fossil fuels. We’re killing the planet. And we haven’t got much time left.” He bent over and gasped for air. “Will you tow my plane to the shore?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sank.”
“No, it didn’t . . .” He turned around. “Oh, no! Noooooooo!”
“Sorry.”
“I . . . I have to get it back!” He jumped back into the water and splashed around. He ducked his head under and looked down, but didn’t take a breath first. When his head came up, he was choking and spitting up water. I was starting to wonder if this was his very first time on the sea. He acted as if he didn’t even know what it was.
I pulled on the rope again until he grabbed hold of the side of the sub. He looked so disappointed now you would have thought that somebody had just died. I didn’t think I had ever seen anyone look so disappointed before. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
“I might be able to find it for you, if the salt water hasn’t ruined it.”
He looked up. “Really? How could you do that?”
“Well, it’s only ninety feet deep. I could swim down with a rope and hook, and we could pull it up. It’s possible. But I think the salt water probably ruined your engine.”
“No. I can clean it. I built it from scratch. I can take it apart and clean it.” He turned and stared at the water as if he expected his plane to come back up all by itself. Then he shifted his weight, lost his balance, and fell into the water again. Oh boy. When I helped him out, he was spitting up water. I think he was completely exhausted now. Maybe he was hungry, too.
“Are you hungry?”
He raised his head and looked at me as if food was something he hadn’t thought of for a very long time. He suddenly looked very tired, sad, and lonely. “Yah. I’m starving.”
“I’m making pancakes. Would you like some?”
“I’m not sure what they are, but I’ll eat them.”
I reached down and offered him my hand. “I’m Alfred.”
He reached up. His hand was shaking. His lips were turning blue. He was shivering. “I’m Los.”
“Are you okay?”
He nodded, but he wasn’t okay. He was shaking. I think maybe he really was starving.
“Come on in. I’ll give you something to eat.”
He followed me. Just before he dropped his head inside the portal, he stopped and stared at the shore. He had a curious and dreamy look on his face. “We’re on the sea, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” He climbed down the ladder. “And this is really a submarine, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Inside the sub, Los looked like a kid who had just come into a toy store for the very first time. Even though he was exhausted, and starving, he examined everything with intense curiosity. He couldn’t help it. I could tell that he was someone whose energy came from his mind, not his body. In a funny way, he reminded me of Albert Einstein.
“This is amazing. You’ve got to show me how everything works.” When he stood up, his head was almost touching the ceiling. He was about two inches taller than me, and maybe a little slimmer.
“Sure. I will, right after we eat . . . Oh!” My pancake wasn’t on my plate anymore. I looked on the floor. It wasn’t there, either, but there was a sticky streak of raspberry jam. I looked at the crew. They were standing apart from each other and staring at me. I wondered which one had taken it. Probably Seaweed. But they all looked guilty. “Never mind. I’ll cook some fresh ones. This is my crew. This is Hollie.” Hollie came over and sniffed Los, who bent down and touched him on the head. It wasn’t really a pat; it was more of a poke, to see if he was real. “This is Seaweed.” Seaweed completely ignored Los because he wasn’t carrying food. It was probably the height of rudeness in the seagull world to meet someone for the first time and not bring food. “And this is Little Laura. She just joined us last week.” Little Laura took a few steps sideways, until she was next to Hollie. She opened her mouth and made the little swallowing movements she always made just after she had eaten. She was definitely guilty.
I made a double batch of pancakes, and Los ate the whole thing, drank four glasses of water, and a whole pot of tea! As soon as he finished one pancake, I put another one on his plate, and he gobbled it up as if it were his very first meal. I had never seen anyone eat like that before.
“This is really good!” he said. He never even slowed down. But after a while, his eyes began to droop. Still, he pushed himself to eat, as if he believed he wouldn’t get a chance to eat again for a long time. I had given him a sleeping bag to sit on, beside Hollie. But when I went into the stern to dig through the dry supplies for more powdered milk, and came back, he was lying sideways on the bag, curled up and fast asleep.
I made another plate of pancakes for myself, and ate them as I watched Los sleep, and listened to him snore. I knew what it was like to be that exhausted. He would probably sleep for a long time. I wondered how long he had been flying before he crashed into the sea. And how he got into the air in the first place. Did he push his plane off a mountain? His crash reminded me of the story of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun with wings made of feathers and wax. When the sun melted the wax, Icarus plunged to his death in the sea. I wondered if that’s why Los had been shaking so much—he had just realized that his plane didn’t float, and he couldn’t swim. If we hadn’t been in the water nearby, he would have drowned. I knew that shaky feeling too, of being close to death. It wasn’t very nice.
As I watched him sleeping on the floor, snoring like a goat, something about him unsettled me, though I didn’t know what it was. It was only after I stopped trying to figure it out that it came to me. It was his recklessness. He was obviously very smart, inventive, and good at building things. But he had come through the air in a machine that couldn’t stay aloft once it had run out of fuel. And he flew it over the sea, where he couldn’t land, and when he had no flotation devices,
and couldn’t swim. Not only that, he had come without food or water. Had he given no thought to any of those things? Had he no help or advice from anyone? At first glance, he had looked so cool in his flying machine. In reality, it had been practically a suicide mission. Here, now, he was asleep on the floor of a vessel of someone he didn’t know at all. What if I were a pirate? There were lots of them around here. What if I killed him in his sleep? Why would he trust me so quickly? He was probably nineteen or twenty years old, but I had the feeling he might not live very long.
Chapter Eleven
HE SLEPT THE REST of the day and night, snoring the whole time. When I brought a pillow out and put it under his head, he didn’t wake. The crew stepped around him as if he were a piece of driftwood we had carried in from the beach. Hollie sniffed him every time he went around him, trying to identify smells he had never smelled before. And Los did have a particular smell, like a spice or herb, like wild garlic. It was a good smell.
While he slept, I found his plane. It was an unmistakable shape on sonar ninety feet below. I steered the sub until we were directly above it, then dropped a hundred-foot rope over the side, with a hook to pull it down. I took a careful look at Los to make sure he was still asleep, climbed out, slipped into the water, took a few breaths, and went down.
I was glad for the chance to practise diving. If you don’t practise holding your breath under water, you lose your ability to do it. On the way down, I looked for sharks. My guidebook said that the seas of South Africa were thick with sharks, dolphins and whales. I had seen lots of sharks in my travels. Most were just curious, like fish. And the aggressive ones, like tiger sharks, would only eat you if you gave them an invitation. I didn’t see any on the way down.
It was murky at the bottom. There was a current stirring up a fine silt. I had no problem finding the plane, but couldn’t tell if it was upside down or not. The silt was creeping over it like snow drifting over old farm machinery in a field. It would be covered in no time. I wrapped the hook around a bar in the centre, and pulled it through a loop in the rope. Then I turned around and headed back up. There were a couple of dark shapes in the distance. Probably they were sharks, but as I wasn’t moving with panic, and wasn’t bleeding, they never bothered me.
