by Nick Lake
Then, very gently, I laid the bow on the strings. There was sound waiting to come out – I could almost hear it – but I needed to move the bow if I wanted to release it. Did I want to do that?
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I started to draw the bow. I hovered on the notes, listening to the tuning, adjusting the pegs. The warmth and the moisture at sea hadn’t done the violin a lot of good, but it was still just about in tune once I got it right. Behind me, I heard Dad take a breath, but I didn’t turn around.
I started to play, the music bright and clear, like spring water.
At first, I didn’t know what I was playing, but then I realised: it was the Chaconne, Bach’s Chaconne, the piece I was preparing for the Menuhin Competition, when Mom died, which I never got to play for her on stage. What was I thinking? Was I thinking that I was playing it for her? Because that would be an idiotic idea, of course.
Really, though, I was playing it for Farouz. I just hoped he was listening, and knew what I meant.
Anyway, I was still playing, and the sound was filling the deck, reaching out to Eyl beside us, to the stars. It was everywhere, surrounding me, in me, resonating in my ear canals, shivering along my skin. I let out a long, slow breath. It was like I’d been living with the screen turned to black and white, and now someone had switched the colour on.
Because I didn’t just hear the music – I saw it. When you’ve played like I have, as long as I have, this is what happens – the notes that are in your head, in your memory, are there in front of you, just as present as the stars, superimposed on them. It’s like you can see this whole architecture holding up the world, this skeleton, like you’re looking at a building and can make out the beams, the stairways, the arches. So I was seeing the sunlounger, the life ring set into the side of the yacht, the moon sparkling on the sea, but also and at the same time I was seeing this:
And it was hanging in the air in front of me.
How did I live without this? I thought.
When I had finished, I put the violin back in its case.
— Beautiful, said Dad. Thank you.
He came over and gave me an awkward hug.
— Er, yeah, I said, realising that he thought I’d played for him.
— I’ve missed you, Amy-bear, he said.
That broke the magic. I pulled away.
— You’re the one who’s never around, I said.
A veil came down over his eyes.
— Uh-huh, he said. Come on. Back inside.
*
At dawn Ahmed and Farouz came and told us to get ready.
— Shower, said Ahmed. One time.
— One time? said Dad.
— One at a time, Farouz explained. So you’re presentable, when you return to your people.
— Hostage One first, said Ahmed. Rest, stay here.
So we waited while Dad went and had a shower, then changed into new clothes that the pirates had brought for each of us. The stepmother followed, then Tony.
I went fourth. Ahmed pointed to the showers down the corridor, not the en suites, but the ones that were meant for the crew. I nodded and went in. There were two shower cubicles inside, and the door of one of them was slightly ajar. I frowned. Then the door opened, and Farouz stood there.
— Farouz! I said. Does Ahmed –
— Yes. I persuaded him. He is not happy.
I smiled.
— I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, I said.
— No. I didn’t want to, either, he said.
— I played for you last night. Did you hear?
— Yes, he said. I heard. Thank you.
He handed me a little piece of paper, folded.
— My email address, he said. When I go back to Galkayo . . . It will be complicated. Mohammed’s family might be looking for me. But email me when you are home. I will try to reply.
— Should you go to Galkayo? I said. If it’s dangerous?
— I have to. My brother.
A dull fear settled on me. I’d been thinking about myself, about the risks, the exchange. I hadn’t thought about Farouz being in danger when he left the yacht.
— Shower, he said. We can talk while you do. Otherwise you’ll be too slow and your father will suspect.
He was right, I realised. As much as I wanted to look at his face, to memorise it – the mole on his right cheek, his long eyelashes – I went into the cubicle, undressed, turned on the water.
— I will come to England, he said, after, when –
— I’m sorry, I lied. I can’t hear you.
I didn’t want to deal with that. Farouz, in England? I didn’t want to think about it in real, practical terms, didn’t want to ruin the stupid impossible fantasy I had of him coming, of us having a life together; speaking about it might make it disappear, like a soap bubble going pop. To stop him talking about things that could never happen, I said:
— Tell me something. Tell me something about when you were young. Before the war.
— Which war? There are many wars.
— The one . . . when your parents died. Tell me something from before that.
This was probably the last time I was going to see him. I wanted something to take away with me, something that was just mine.
— All right, he said. I will tell you. But it is not a story about my parents. It is a story about Abdirashid.
He started to speak, and I closed my eyes as the water flowed over me.
*
Sometime soon after 6 a.m. we trooped out on to the deck, came out of the shadowed corridor into that total sunlight, blasting at us from all angles. It was early, the sun low, but the heat was already like a beating. It was already all around us, giving us no room for escape.
Farouz was out there, waiting. He caught my eye when I came out, then looked away. The navy destroyer had moved a little closer in the night, I saw – I guess to comply with the go plan. I could just make out tiny figures on its deck, watching us. Ahmed had his AK at the ready, his finger resting in the trigger guard. Everyone seemed nervous. Even Farouz was shifting from one foot to the other, tapping his thumb on his pistol. I guess, for them, this was when things could go really wrong.
I tried not to think about the logical consequence:
If things went wrong for them, it meant they would go wrong for us. And they were the ones with the guns.
Ahmed shepherded us with the barrel of his rifle, pointing us further down, to where the diving platform met the sea. We shuffled forward, giving him and Farouz the advantage of height. The sea was clapping against the deck: clap, clap, clap. The sun blared its heat, unchanging, like white noise. I don’t know how long we stood there. After a certain time, Dad put his arm around me, and I smelled his sweat and thought about how far we had come from normal life, if my dad was smelling like that and not of Clinique.
Dad glanced at his watch. The pirates had never taken it because he had always been wearing it – which was unlucky for them, because it was a Patek, and probably worth nearly as much as the yacht.
— Six thirty already, he said. What the hell are they doing?
— Don’t worry, said Tony, who was perched on the railing, scanning the sea. They’re professionals. They’ll stick to the plan.
There was no sign of any helicopter, though. We waited for ten minutes, twenty. That was when the navy dinghy appeared, scooting over the waves, getting closer and closer. This had nothing to do with the game plan – I didn’t have a clue what they were playing at. It was like they were deliberately trying to antagonise the pirates, or maybe they just wanted a closer look. I don’t know. All I knew was that the men on the dinghy were armed.
But you know how this played out – you have seen it already. Ahmed started to freak out and told the navy over VHF to back off, or he’d kill a hostage.
Even Dad lost it a bit.
— What the living fuck are they doing? he said to Tony.
— Relax, relax, said Tony, though there was swea
t beading on his upper lip and his fingers were shaking. They’re just testing. Testing, and getting a closer look.
— Shut up, said Ahmed reflexively.
And the dinghy kept coming.
That was when, with the VHF turned on so that the navy could hear, Ahmed told Farouz to point his gun at me, and kill me.
Click.
Farouz takes off the safety, and it makes that noise.
Click.
I close my eyes, and the sun is just as bright behind my eyelids, only it’s red now, billowing, like clouds of blood in water. I listen to the waves, smell the salt of the sea.
I was scared before. I was. But it was, oh-this-is-frightening-but-kind-of-exciting-too. Now it’s, OH-GOD-OH-GOD-I’M-GOING-TO-DIE-AND-THERE’S-NOTHING-I-CAN-DO-ABOUT-IT. Fear doesn’t so much seize me as surround me, the way that a dark cloud breaks and the air all around is suddenly hail.
I’m actually going to die, right here and now. I’m thinking about how Farouz promised me that he wouldn’t hurt me, that he would rather die himself, but I don’t know if he will hold to that promise. I don’t think he will. I would rather die is an easy thing to say, but it’s a harder thing to do.
You might hope that I would have a more profound thought than that, but I don’t. It’s more a peculiar realisation – that this moment, the moment of my death, that has always seemed really abstract and far away, is actually NOW. I feel like that polo horse, waiting for the vet to come and give the injection.
Then I think, we’ll be on the news for maybe a week. And then it’ll be something else, some earthquake, some footballer having sex with a prostitute. And that will be it. In my head, I start to listen to Milstein’s 1953 recording of the Sonatas and Partitas, trying to remember every note, every flourish.
Why have I not been playing my violin every day? I ask myself. Because, yes, there’s a beauty in electronic music that’s like echoes in space, but what Milstein told the world was that the violin has a voice, and it can sing. It’s alive, that music; it’s not just voices from the past, twisted and distorted over time. It’s the sound of the human heart if you could hear what it wanted to say.
There’s another soft metallic sound as Farouz starts to squeeze the trigger. My dad is suddenly shouting, my stepmother screaming – nothing comprehensible, just noise.
I take a deep breath . . .
And my dad stops shouting. I open my eyes and turn to see the navy dinghy retreating towards the destroyer. Ahmed is smiling.
— All OK, he says.
I stare at him. OK? Fucking OK? That’s all he’s going to say? I wonder if Farouz would have pulled the trigger, if he would have killed me. Or if he would have turned and shot Ahmed instead, like it would happen in a movie. Who knows? I’ll never know, I realise.
— Sorry, Ahmed says. Sorry. Was just to make scare for navy. Not true.
Not true, I think. Not true.
— Jesus Christ, says my dad. I hope that was worth it for them, to get their closer look.
He hugs me tight and, for once, I don’t mind.
— They know now that the pirates aren’t messing around, says Tony.
— You would think, says the stepmother a little acidly, that they would have known that already.
My knees feel wobbly, like they’re not sure they can keep me up any more.
Then, from the destroyer, comes a sort of pale, far-off whine, and we see the helicopter lift into the air. It banks and flies towards us, before stopping over the ocean to drop the money.
But Ahmed thumbs the VHF.
— No, he says, to the navy and the negotiator. No exchange.
— Sir, a voice comes back, this plan has been agreed by all parties. It can’t –
— Quiet, says Ahmed.
He speaks quickly to Farouz, then throws him the VHF. Farouz takes over speaking.
— The plan was agreed, he says. But you were late. And the dinghy was not part of the plan. We now reject your plan.
— You won’t get any more money, says the voice at the other end, a man of indeterminate age.
Farouz talks to Ahmed for a moment.
— OK, he says into the handset. But we will no longer let the hostages leave before we return to shore.
He takes his thumb off the VHF. Then he questions Ahmed, frowning, but Ahmed waves at him, insisting on something. Farouz nods reluctantly, presses the button again.
— We will take one of the hostages back to shore with us after we have the money, he says to the person on the other end. When we have safely reached the shore, they will return to you.
— Absolutely not, says the navy voice, crackling.
— It’s OK, says Tony, coming closer. I’ll go.
— No. Ahmed shakes his head. He points to me, Dad and the stepmother. One of them. One of owners.
— You’re mad, says Tony.
— No. Ahmed looks offended. We want safe, that is all. He talks to Farouz for a while.
— As soon as we are on shore, says Farouz, the hostage will be put in a boat with a motor. They can then return to the yacht.
— Listen, all of you, says the navy. This is not acceptable. I repeat: this is not acceptable. No one is going to take the risk of –
Ahmed turns off the VHF. He points his gun at the three of us.
— Choose, he says. Choose one.
— This is crazy, says Dad. You can’t really think one of us is going to go to the shore with you? To Somalia. I mean, what guarantee do we have that we’ll come back safely?
— What guarantee do we have? says Farouz. That after we leave with the money, the navy won’t come after us? They have dinghies, a helicopter, guns. This is our guarantee.
— I won’t do it, says Dad. I won’t risk my life like that. My daughter, my wife – they depend on me.
Farouz shrugs. He and Ahmed are still standing there, guns levelled at us. But for just a moment, Ahmed turns to look at the destroyer, and Farouz winks at me, to say he wouldn’t have done it, I suppose, and for a split second I’m all happy because my – my what? my boyfriend? – didn’t want to shoot me. I realise I’m being ridiculous. How do I know he wouldn’t have done it? Just because he winked?
Winking afterwards is easy, so I don’t meet his eye. I look down.
— You have the word of the navy, says Tony. The plan is in place. Let’s stick to –
Ahmed points his gun at him, and Tony shuts up. The tension is like the sun – everywhere, pushing down on us. I can see sweat trickling down Farouz’s temple. My dad’s arm is stiff on my shoulders.
— Oh, screw it, says the stepmother. I’ll do it.
I turn to her, surprised. Dad is staring at her, too.
— I’ll do it, she repeats, to Ahmed this time. I’ll go with you and the money. Just as long as we can get out of here.
— Are you insane? says Dad. Are you actually insane? If you think I’m going to let –
— You’re my husband, says the stepmother. You’re not my owner.
That makes Dad close his mouth for a moment, and I look into the stepmother’s eyes.
— Why would you do that? I say to her. You could get killed.
— I don’t think so. She holds my gaze. But if I do, you’ll be safe.
— What? I say.
I didn’t even think she liked me, but she’s looking at me, and I can see something in her eyes that looks like affection. This is a weird moment. Suddenly I’m looking at her, and it seems to me now that her hardness is something thin and on the outside of her, like an eggshell.
Then she ices over again, and is just the stepmother.
— What? says Tony. No, this is not the plan. This is not the plan.
— The plan just changed, says the stepmother.
Suddenly, I feel really ashamed. It didn’t even occur to me to volunteer, even to be with Farouz for a bit longer, and here’s my stepmother, who’s usually selfish and who complains about stuff, saying that she’ll go with the pirates because she wants me to be
safe.
— I forbid this! says Dad. I absolutely forbid it.
— The only way you can forbid it is if you go yourself, says the stepmother. She’s looking right at him, challenging him.
Dad looks back for a minute, maybe. Then he drops his eyes. He takes his arm away from me, and it feels like a goodbye, like a defeat.
— I can’t go, he says. You know that. He glances at me as he says this.
Coward! I think, but the stepmother looks at him kindly, like she has only this moment worked something out.
— No, she says. Of course not. I understand.
— What? I say. He should go! He’s the man.
The stepmother turns to me.
— Don’t you get it? she says. He can’t.
— He can, I say.
— No. You’ve already lost your mother.
— What? What’s she got to do with anything?
— Think, Amy, says the stepmother. If something happens to your dad what happens to you?
I did think, and I got it. If something happened to him, then I would have no parents at all.
I stare at Dad.
— Is that true? I say.
He looks down.
— Is that true? I say again.
He doesn’t answer.
Coward, I think again. But I don’t even know if I mean it any more.
GO PLAN VERSION TWO
SUBMITTED BY JERRY CHRISTOPHER, NEGOTIATOR FOR GOLDBLATT BANK, ABOARD HMS ENDEAVOUR. RATIFIED BY ALL PARTIES.
1) At 3 p.m. Royal Navy ship HMS Endeavour will give the GO signal on VHF channel 16.
2) All passengers will report to the rear deck. HMS Endeavour will confirm the presence of all passengers by long-range telescope. HMS Endeavour will give the exchange signal.
3) Helicopter will leave HMS Endeavour and fly to a point 200 metres to the east of the Daisy May. Helicopter will be weapons cold.
4) Three Somalis will leave the Daisy May aboard a dinghy, carrying a portable VHF unit also tuned to channel 16. They will navigate to a point below the helicopter.
