Sanctuary

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Sure you don’t want to?’

  ‘No, no, no,’ with a shake of his hand Massoud literally backed away, ‘no thank you, no.’ He was happy to stay with the light stubble he now sported and he was quite sure Hany, too, would decline the offer despite being darker and more hirsute than he. What man wants to rake a blunt razor blade over his face? he thought, looking at Rassen’s bloody spots. The thought sent shivers down Massoud’s spine.

  ‘Let’s sit on the verandah,’ Rassen suggested.

  Massoud nodded and they adjourned outside.

  The yellow hut, which had been allotted to Rassen and Hala, was the group’s unacknowledged headquarters, as it was there they gathered on the front verandah for meetings.

  Each couple had been allocated a hut, which also served a specific purpose according to the talents of its occupants.

  Hany and Sanaa’s was the kitchen and mess hut, Sanaa having become the official cook. Their hut, which was bright blue, boasted a barbecue and gas bottle on its back porch and the group had set up two of the Primus stoves inside. The main room of the hut, being larger than that of its neighbours, could accommodate them all seated on the various chairs and boxes and milk crates they’d assembled.

  The green hut, home to Karim and Azra and little Hamid, served as the workshop, for Karim, a strong young man and a builder’s labourer by trade, was invaluable in all things practical. The hut had been specially chosen, its previous occupant having erected a large workbench at the rear complete with a vice and an old-fashioned pedal-operated grinding wheel, which Karim found fascinating.

  ‘Very old,’ he said, ‘from the fifties or sixties, maybe, but very practical.’ From the storage sheds of other huts the group had collected all manner of tools that Karim deemed useful for repairs and maintenance.

  Massoud and Jalila each had their own huts, neither serving any purpose other than accommodation.

  ‘I have no particular talent, I’m afraid,’ Massoud had said when they were structuring their village and deciding how best to serve the interests of the group as a whole. ‘In fact I’m quite useless,’ he admitted cheerily, ‘but I shall do my best, I promise.’

  Rassen knew that Massoud was anything but useless. The two had conversed during the early days aboard the vessel and he was aware of the young man’s scholarly background. In Rassen’s opinion, Massoud’s fluency in Middle Eastern languages could prove invaluable. We are an eclectic group with eclectic beliefs, he thought, and although we can communicate adequately in basic Arabic, should disagreements arise, as they possibly might, Massoud can intervene and mediate in all languages.

  Oh no, I beg to differ my friend, he thought, you are not useless at all, you may well serve a purpose. And perhaps also as our jester. Rassen smiled as the young Iranian, in typical fashion, continued to make fun of himself.

  ‘And as I am the most useless among us,’ Massoud concluded, ‘I shall take the magenta hut, it being the smallest. Besides,’ he added, ‘I like the colour.’

  Rassen and Hala had tried to insist Jalila move in with them for company, but she had declined with the merest shake of her head, making no choice but simply accepting the hut she was allotted.

  ‘It is a good time for us to talk of matters that, if voiced amongst the others, might cause some concern,’ Rassen now said as the two men settled themselves on the front verandah’s bench. Rassen had discussed the situation in depth with Hala, but he looked forward to hearing Massoud’s views. And now was indeed a good time, with Hany and Karim out fishing in the dinghy and the women cooking and tending the garden. ‘Do you believe there will be retaliation?’ he asked, a repetition of Massoud’s own question. ‘Do you believe if they return they might want to kill us?’

  Massoud smiled, in turn repeating Rassen’s response. ‘Difficult to say without knowing who “they” are, isn’t it?’ His smile faded and he continued in all seriousness. ‘If we could only find out what these people did and what purpose this settlement served,’ he said, ‘we’d be halfway to finding out where we are. Shame our phones didn’t survive the storm,’ then he added with an air of mock accusation, ‘and a damn shame your fancy TAG Heuer doesn’t do more than tell the time.’ Rassen’s watch was the only one of the group’s that continued to function.

  ‘I doubt cell phones would receive here anyway,’ Rassen replied unperturbed – no point in discussing technology they simply didn’t have. ‘So what are your views, Massoud? Do you seriously believe in your “criminal activity” theory?’

  ‘I think it’s a definite possibility, yes. Like you, I don’t see any reason why Australian fishermen would abandon their homes, and as we know this settlement is more sophisticated than it looks. That makes Hany’s suggestion of illegal immigrants most unlikely.’

  They had discovered that the huts were rigged for electricity; each had light fittings, some small electric stoves and refrigerators, some water pumps, all generator driven, although the generators themselves were gone. The kerosene lamps and torches, the gas bottle and barbecue and the number of Primus stoves appeared, for the most part anyway, to be backup should the generators fail, a provision for which the group was extremely thankful.

  ‘So if our criminal friends have organised a settlement with everything they need in order to live in this wilderness and conduct whatever activity it is they’re involved in,’ Massoud continued, ‘and if they’ve beaten a hasty retreat fearing discovery, then we have only one of two outcomes to expect.’

  ‘And those outcomes are?’

  ‘Either our criminals are right, the authorities are on to them, in which case we can expect the arrival of the police. Or if, given time, their concerns prove groundless and the police don’t show up, they return to resume their activities.’

  ‘We’ve been here six days so far,’ Rassen said, ‘and there’s been no sign of the police.’

  ‘Exactly, which means we must fear the latter. Perhaps we should prepare ourselves for some form of attack, Rassen. I’m quite sure, as you said yourself, our friends won’t be happy to find us here.’

  ‘If we are to follow through with your scenario, there is a third possibility, however,’ Rassen suggested. ‘Our criminals may have decided to cut all ties and run, never to return. Which could well leave us here, undiscovered, for who knows how long?’

  A sobering silence ensued, both men staring out at the boundless ocean.

  ‘The others are happy in the knowledge that they have survived,’ Rassen continued after a minute or so, ‘and they are embracing the safety of our village after escaping whatever horrors beset them. We are still physically weak and this is a good thing as we regain our strength, but surely we do want to be discovered, Massoud, even if it is by your dastardly criminals. Would you wish to spend the rest of your life here? Here in this time warp in the middle of the ocean?’

  Massoud did not reply. There was no need anyway, as the question had been rhetorical.

  ‘What I wouldn’t give for a cup of truly good coffee,’ Rassen said, the conversation over.

  Hala, Jalila, Azra and little Hamid were in the backyard of the blue hut where, inside, Sanaa was preparing the fish stock for the evening meal, which would be a seafood soup made from the previous day’s catch. The soups and stews Sanaa concocted from a variety of seafood had led to an interesting exchange several days previously.

  ‘After I have cooked this, may I put the flesh in the stew?’ Sanaa had asked when Hany had proudly presented to the group the sizeable mud crab he had caught amongst the small clump of mangroves that grew on the northeastern lee side of the island. Sanaa had directed her query to Karim and Azra, whom she knew to be devout Muslims. ‘I believe you are not permitted some types of seafood. Perhaps you would rather I did not use this in the stew?’

  Karim and Azra, both shy at the best of times, had been so taken aback by the respect afforded them that they’d been momentarily speechless, so Rassen had answered in their stead.

  ‘If there is no halal food ava
ilable, a Muslim may eat haram food in order to survive,’ he said with authority. A liberal Sunni Muslim himself with decidedly secular views, Rassen wasn’t even sure if crabs were on the forbidden list to Karim and Azra, who were Afghan Shia Twelvers, but the reply was the only sensible one. ‘We thank you for your courtesy, Sanaa,’ he added with an encouraging smile to the young couple.

  ‘Yes,’ Karim agreed, his wife nodding also, ‘thank you, Sanaa. Your offer is most kind, but we shall eat the same meal as our friends.’

  The exchange had greatly pleased Rassen. Perhaps there will be no need to call upon Massoud’s linguistic skills after all, he thought. Perhaps there will be no disagreement among us. How very refreshing.

  Sanaa flavoured the meals she cooked with the herbs that thrived under the island’s harsh conditions, and the vegetables, which did not fare as well being near an end, the wild beans depleted and the tubers at a minimum. She had given strict instructions that several runner beans were to be kept to dry out so that the seeds could be sown when the fine weather came. Several potatoes also, she said, must be put aside to sprout in order to be replanted for a fresh crop. Her advice was heeded unquestioningly, although the reaction shared between Rassen, Hala and Massoud had been telling, each wondering how long their stay on this island would be. They had not voiced their misgivings to the group, however.

  The others, in continuing to bless their good fortune, had been buoyed up with each new discovery over the passing days. Several pantries had revealed supplies of tinned and dried food, packets of pasta and rice, which could supplement their diet. A canister of tea was found, some powdered milk, even half a jar of instant coffee, although it was virtually dried out. And when these luxuries were gone no matter, they had nothing to fear, they would still be self-sufficient. The coral reefs surrounding the island abounded with marine life; fish of every variety, crustaceans, molluscs, shellfish, just there for the taking. All this was theirs, and with no threat looming, they had surely found paradise.

  Hala and Jalila knelt in the dirt digging up the last of the potatoes, the blue hut’s garden being the final one to be denuded of its crop. Azra, seated on an upturned milk crate, was watching her son as, several metres from the others, he dug away with a small trowel enjoying the appearance of being helpful while achieving nothing.

  Hala was keeping her own watchful eye on Azra, checking that the young woman’s breathing had returned to normal. Azra had been picking herbs when she’d been overtaken by a coughing fit that, while causing her much pain, had also exhausted her.

  ‘You must return to your cottage and go to bed,’ Hala had instructed, trying to take the herbs that Azra still clutched in her hand, but Azra had retained her grip and shaken her head vehemently.

  ‘No, no I am all right, I promise,’ she insisted. Being alone frightened Azra.

  ‘Then you must go to bed here,’ Hala insisted, ‘Sanaa will not mind if you sleep in her bed until Karim returns.’

  ‘No. Please, Nurse Hala,’ Azra had said her voice husky as she fought back another bout of coughing, ‘please let me stay with you.’ The knowledge of others nearby was not enough for Azra; even being alone in a room frightened her.

  Recognising the young woman’s fear, Hala had relented and fetched a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders and seating her out of the wind. She worried about Azra’s bronchial condition, which could so easily become pneumonia.

  Hala, in her capacity as mother figure to them all, continued to keep a close eye on every member of the group. They were growing stronger, it was true, but the hardship they had suffered had taken its toll. They still tired easily and their bodies were still susceptible, particularly Azra’s, her fractured rib continuing to cause her a great deal of pain. And it will for some time to come yet, Hala thought, but the biggest worry now is the possibility of pneumonia.

  Surprisingly enough, the one to have made the greatest progress of all was little Hamid. The boy’s recovery rate had been remarkable. Since rescued from the brink of death, he had noticeably improved every day. Hamid’s survival had brought joy to every single one of them. Perhaps even to Jalila, Hala thought, although it was difficult to tell, as the girl remained unreadable.

  Hala’s hope that Jalila would form a bond with the others was slow in coming to fruition. The girl helped with whatever menial tasks she was allotted, washing dishes, gardening, simply doing the chores that were asked of her, but the only true interest she displayed was in the child. This had, however, built an unspoken connection between her and the boy’s mother. Hala had noticed how Azra and Jalila would occasionally share a glance when Hamid did something appealing, like trying to stalk a seagull, which was a preoccupation of his. Little Hamid was determined the time would come when he would catch one of these birds and he would totter around on his still wobbly legs, lacking the power of a normal three-year-old, it was true, but nonetheless resolute in his pursuit.

  Hala considered the connection between the two young women, slight though it was, of immense value, not only for Jalila, but also for Azra, who was painfully insecure.

  ‘Azra keeps her fears to herself, Nurse Hala,’ Karim had said just the previous day when he’d sought her out. ‘She does not wish to be the weak one among us.’ The young couple treated Hala with the utmost reverence, she was Nurse Hala to them at all times, a fact that she found both touching and amusing. ‘My Azra has terrible dreams,’ Karim continued, ‘she will toss and turn in her sleep and sometimes she will wake and cry out. But she does not wish me to tell others this,’ he admitted. ‘You will say nothing?’

  As always, Hala could not help but respond to the child-like quality this strong young man exuded. Karim, bearded and sturdy of build, was without doubt the physically strongest of the men, yet she saw in him such vulnerability. And all for the love of his wife, Hala thought. He worries so for Azra.

  ‘I will say nothing,’ she promised.

  ‘Azra feels guilty that she cannot work as hard as she would wish,’ Karim went on. ‘She wants to carry her share of the burden, but she is weak, she must take care.’

  ‘You are right, Karim, she must take care. And I shall look after her during the times when you are gone. I promise I shall, you have my word upon that.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you, Nurse Hala.’ It was all he’d wanted, Nurse Hala’s personal assurance. Karim felt deeply relieved.

  Now, keeping careful watch on Azra, Hala could see more than the young woman’s weakened state, more than the shadows under the pretty eyes in the pretty hijab-framed face. She could see, in the eyes themselves, the fear of which Karim had spoken. She felt sorry for Azra, but there was little she could do about fears and nightmares. Her own husband suffered similarly. Rassen, for all the strength of his leadership, also suffered nightmares. There was little she could do for him too. They were all haunted by images from the past.

  Azra was indeed haunted by images, but her fears did not lie only in the past. Her fears lay in the future.

  Every morning, after she and Karim had completed the first of the daily prayer rituals each observed, she would accompany him to the shoreline. She would watch as he set off with Hany, the two men taking an oar apiece, and she would continue to watch as they rowed the dinghy out to sea. Despite their lack of experience, the two had become skilled fishermen, Hany generously giving most of the credit to Karim.

  ‘He has the true touch,’ Hany had declared. ‘Do not ask me where this talent comes from, but he will catch three fish for every one of mine. Our friend Karim has discovered a natural skill,’ he’d said, ‘while sadly I remain a humble plumber. These hands,’ he’d added jokingly, flexing his fingers, ‘are made for solid piping, not the elusive nylon of a fishing line.’

  For all the shared good humour, Azra hated seeing Karim row out to sea. The sight aroused such fear in her, setting off the cycle of nightmares, and conjuring up images that remained with her throughout the morning until his return. The sea would devour Karim as it had devoured all
the others. In fearing for her husband’s safety, Azra was haunted by the memory of that hideous night. Of bodies threshing about in the black, black water; deathly screams that might have come from those taken by sharks, who could tell; Karim hauling her onto some floating wreckage, thrusting Hamid into her arms, keeping himself afloat without a life jacket, remaining there a protective presence by her side as all the while she waited for that awful moment when he would fall prey to the sharks that must surely be circling. Then the miracle of the morning when he was still there; and the serenity of the ocean, the sight of the dinghy broken free from its davits and the several survivors aboard rowing towards them, calling out for others who may have survived. Then the combined puzzlement at the sight that confronted them, the sight that remained the most haunting image of all. They had expected to be surrounded by carnage, but they were not. Instead, they were bobbing about on the surface of an innocent sea. Where had all the people gone? Despite the sickness that had taken some during the journey, there must have been close to forty remaining on the vessel before it foundered. Where were they? The sharks could not have taken every one of them. But there had been so few life jackets, and so many unable to swim. It was the sea that had claimed them. The awful sea.

  Azra had offered thanks for the survival of her family. She had praised Allah many times. But the sea would not preserve her husband indefinitely. The sea was her enemy, and every morning when Karim rowed out in the dinghy, she feared it would be the last time she would see him.

  Even now, sitting in the garden, her eyes upon her son, the images had found their way into her mind and Azra was not really seeing little Hamid at all.

  Then she became aware that other eyes were upon her, and she glanced over to Hala, whose expression was one of deep concern.

  Azra chastised herself. She was worrying Nurse Hala and that was wrong of her. She did not want to be a nuisance. She looked down at the herbs she still held in her hand and stood. ‘I will take these in to Sanaa.’