Boy Giant

by Michael Morpurgo

  ‘Then Dad got ill. The doctors told us that he would not live for long. And they were right. Dad died the day before my big race, on the Thames in London it was. I rowed my heart out for him and we won. But I discovered that day that winning isn’t enough, that other things are more important. I made up my mind what I had to do and promised myself that I would do it.

  ‘One of Dad’s doctors told me that if they were ever going to find a cure for Dad’s illness they needed all the money they could get, for research. So I decided I would raise thousands of pounds. I would do it for Dad. I only knew one way I could do it. I would row. I would find people and businesses to sponsor me, to help me, so I could provide the money we needed for the research. I decided I would be the first woman to row single-handed around the world. So that’s what I’ve been doing now for over two years.

  ‘I left England two years, seven months and two days ago. I know that because I’ve got this little book – a logbook we call it – and I write down in it every day where I am, how far I’ve gone, where I see land, what the weather is like, what weather is coming, which port in which country was my last stop, and which will be the next stop, how much water and food I have left, the birds I spot, the whales and dolphins I see, the wind direction and strength, the height of the waves, the current, everything that has broken on the boat and needs mending, the up days, the down days. It’s all there in Sunshine’s logbook.

  ‘I call my boat Sunshine, after Dad’s favourite song, “Here Comes the Sun”. He loved that song. And sometimes he would call me that too. I was J.J., I was Sunshine, and I was Jillian when he was cross with me. Which was hardly ever.

  ‘I was counting the other day, as I was reading through my logbook. I’ve visited thirty-five countries, been knocked over three times – turned upside down, and rolled back up again – been swept overboard five times, my lifeline on, luckily, so each time I could manage to climb back in again. I’ve bumped into rocks, into icebergs, a container, and once into a floating bed, and once into a whale. Well, I still think she bumped into me. Her fault! And whilst I’ve never been badly hurt, I’ve got bumps and bruises all over me, strained this muscle, pulled that muscle, broken a finger and a toe, the same stupid toe three times.’ She wiggled her toes. ‘It’s the one I can’t wiggle. And now this.’ She held up her bandaged wrist. I could see her fingers were swollen. ‘I don’t think I have properly broken it. But it’s not good. It happened in the storm. I can move my fingers, look. Maybe it’s a tendon that’s torn … don’t know. It doesn’t hurt too much unless I’m using it. The trouble is, of course, that I have to use it a lot when I row. So I can’t row, not far anyway. I could just about manage to row myself across to you when I woke up and saw your boat. But you weren’t that far away. I can cook and wash myself, do most of what I need to do one-handed. But I can’t row one-handed, because I’ve got two oars. And that’s a pity, and that’s a problem.

  ‘The big problem is that we are still about fifty nautical miles away from the south coast of England, and I know I can’t row there. Dad always said I had to look on the bright side of life. When I was little and I was feeling down, he’d often sing me that song if I was feeling a bit miserable about something: “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. Another of his favourite songs – Dad loved to sing. I think I must have sung that song hundreds of times in the last couple of years, whenever things looked bad, when a storm hit. And then, when it was over, and the world brightened and the sun came out, I’d be singing “Here Comes the Sun”. One way or another my dad and his songs have been with me all round the world.

  ‘Of course the bright side of hurting my wrist is that, if I hadn’t done it, I would have been miles away by now, miles nearer to the coast of England, and then I wouldn’t have been here when you came by, so I wouldn’t have met you and you wouldn’t have met me, and we wouldn’t be sitting here in the middle of the ocean together telling each other our stories. So there you are, that’s my story. Like I said, ordinary compared to yours, and shorter too!’

  As J.J. finished, I was thinking: how strange and wonderful it was that two such stories, hers and mine, should meet like this, by chance, and in the middle of thousands of miles of ocean, and that in a strange way our separate stories were now becoming one story, our story, and that none of us on that boat knew how this story would end. But I did know how I hoped it would end: in a café in Fore Street, Mevagissey, with Mother and Uncle Said there, waiting for me.

  ‘Fore Street, Mevagissey,’ I said to her. ‘It’s in England. Do you know it?’

  ‘Well, I know Mevagissey,’ she replied. ‘I know Mevagissey quite well. I’ve sailed in there sometimes with Dad, from Salcombe – that’s where we live, where I set out from when I began all this. It’s just up the coast in Devon from Mevagissey. That’s where I was heading for, Salcombe. In fact, when I think about it now, I reckon we’re even closer where we are now to Mevagissey, than we are to Salcombe. But with my wrist as useless as it is, nowhere is close.

  ‘Just before I found you, I was about to radio for help, but the last thing I want is for Sunshine to have to be towed into port on the end of a rope by a lifeboat. After all she’s been through, Sunshine deserves to be rowed in, not towed in. It wouldn’t be right; she wouldn’t like it and I wouldn’t like it. Not a good way to end my single-handed voyage round the world.’ She laughed then, and went on. ‘Funny that. I’m supposed to be rowing single-handed around the world – that’s what they call it, single-handed – but I’ve discovered you really can’t row single-handed at all, not far anyway. It’s impossible. You just go round in circles if you try. And I’ve tried! One hand, one wrist, is not enough. So near, so far.’

  I really hadn’t thought of it, but Zaya had. They had both been sitting on my shoulders all through J.J.’s story, as intent on it as I had been. Zaya was whispering in my ear. ‘You can row, Owzat,’ she said. ‘Tell her you can row.’

  Natoban spoke for me. ‘Owzat can row,’ he said. ‘He’s quite good. And we can help.’

  J.J. was looking at me.

  ‘Well, I could try,’ I told her. ‘But I’m not that good at it, and this boat is big, much bigger than ours, and the oars are huge. I don’t think I could manage both these oars.’

  J.J. was smiling broadly. ‘We could manage together maybe,’ she said. ‘And then we could row into Mevagissey. You wouldn’t have to do it alone. You could take one oar and row two-handed, and I could row single-handed – if you see what I’m saying – on the other oar. But you’ll have to pull hard, with all your strength, Owzat, otherwise we’ll just go round in circles. That would be wonderful. And Zaya and Natoban, we’ll need you too on lookout – for other boats, for land. That way I won’t need to radio in for help, and that way my lovely boat, my Sunshine, won’t have to be towed in by a lifeboat with everyone watching.

  ‘And that’s another problem. If they know I’m coming there’ll be a lot of people waiting, a lot of fuss. But they’ll be expecting me to come into Salcombe, not Mevagissey. That’s what I’ll tell them on the radio. We’ll need to creep in quietly, under cover of dark, if we can. Best not be seen at all. Early morning is good, if wind and tide will let us do it.’

  It was sad for us to have to abandon our brave little boat mid-ocean, and leave her all alone as we rowed away. Natoban and Zaya were especially upset. It was their last link to Lilliput. But it was the only thing we could do. She had been battered by the storm and was low in the water. She was only just afloat anyway. None of us wanted to stay to watch her sink, so we just rowed away from her and tried not to look back. But Natoban and Zaya could not resist several last looks behind them until the little boat disappeared from view. They were quiet after that for a long while, and as sad as I’d ever seen them.

  One-handed, single-handed she might have been, but J.J. rowed more strongly than I ever could two-handed. Every one of her strokes was long and powerful through the water. She would lean right forward, and then pull, digging just deep e
nough with her oar, judging each wave perfectly, so that her oar never skimmed or dug too deep as mine often did. It was hard to keep up with her, but I did my best.

  It took six days of hard rowing into the wind and waves. Then one evening, Natoban, who was kneeling precariously on the bow, at last saw land ahead. ‘England!’ he cried. He jumped down then, took Zaya by the hand and together they did a joyful little jig in the bottom of the boat.

  ‘England,’ J.J. said, ‘and Mevagissey, if we’re lucky and my sat nav is right.’ She was resting on her oar, and gazing at the twinkle of lights in the distance, like stars. ‘Home,’ she said. ‘My home, your home too.’

  The lights on shore came ever closer, as we drifted in through the night. J.J. did not want to hurry. She timed our arrival perfectly. The little town and its harbour were quiet and still as we came in. No one seemed to be about. We rowed slowly, dipping our oars as silently as we could. We passed several fishing boats on their moorings, and came up gently on to the shingle on the beach. J.J. lowered the anchor over the side, and let it slip into the water. We did not splash as we got out; we did not talk.

  We had done all our talking before we arrived. J.J. had planned exactly what to say, what to do, where to go. She had explained everything to me. Provided Mother had reported to the police and claimed asylum, as she should have done as soon as she arrived in England. Find Mother and all would be well, she said – then there should be no problem about me staying.

  But I had to claim asylum as quickly as possible, to report to the first police officer we saw, or walk into the first police station. The worst thing was to try to run away, to hide, and then get caught. I could be locked up, she told me, put in detention, in prison even, and then sent back to Afghanistan. We had to do it right, or it could all go very wrong. And even if Mother wasn’t there, Uncle Said would be, and being my only living relative and having lived in England for years and years, all should be well and I should be allowed to stay. She was sure of it. I was glad she was, because I understood very little of what she’d been saying about reporting to the police and claiming asylum. But I understood her well enough when she talked about how I could be locked up if I tried to run away and was caught.

  ‘I like England. I love it in many ways,’ J.J. told me. ‘But it is not like Lilliput, I’m ashamed to say. We do not always welcome strangers as we should. Whatever happens, stay close to me, and whatever you do, don’t run off. Just follow me.’

  J.J. had googled a map of Mevagissey. She had found Fore Street. We knew where it was and how to find it. But even so, arriving in a strange place in the half-dark, it was not at all easy for us to find our way.

  It was a small town gathered round its harbour, a few small shops and cafés, the houses low, the windows small. Zaya and Natoban were in my pocket, peering out, as we made our way across the muddy shore, and up the slipway on to the quayside. I was thinking it must have been as strange to them as it was to me. But then I thought again. It was, in fact, quite like the harbour in Lilliput – just bigger to them, so much bigger.

  Walking around the harbour now, and down through the streets of the town, I was beginning to feel more and more anxious.

  There was a rubber dinghy below us in the harbour, and I remembered then the boat I had nearly died in, that so many had died in. What if Mother had been in a boat like that, in storms like that? What if? What if? Please God. Please God.

  ‘This must be Fore Street,’ J.J. whispered. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  The street was narrow and silent. It was so hard to take in. This was Fore Street, Mevagissey. This was Mother and Uncle Said’s street. As we walked along I was looking all the while up at all the darkened windows, willing Mother to be lying asleep in one of those rooms.

  ‘Be up there, Mother,’ I said to myself. ‘Please God be up there.’

  I had lived for this moment, been longing for it all this time. J.J. had stopped in front of a doorway.

  ‘This is it,’ she whispered. ‘It’s the only café in the street. They must live above it.’ She was leaning forward then, trying to read a notice on the door. ‘It’s closed,’ she said. ‘But there’s something else. It says it’s for sale.’ She was peering in the window. ‘And look, there are no tables in there, no chairs, nothing. No one’s there. The place is empty.’

  We sat there on the harbour wall watching the dawn come up. There was nothing to say. Zaya and Natoban were staying out of sight, just as J.J. had told them to. One glimpse of them, and there would be a lot of impossible explaining to do – we all knew that. I did feel them moving about in my pocket, and I knew they must be peeking out at this new world about them, at the giants who were beginning to open up their shops, at the giants who were readying their fishing boats in the harbour, at the first cars and bicycles and motorbikes they had ever seen. Whenever I felt them I would push them back down, and whisper to them to stay there.

  They did, but only for a while.

  The town was slowly waking up around us. I watched the people coming and going; I felt more a stranger here amongst my fellow giants than I had ever felt in Lilliput. Then we saw that some of them were beginning to notice Sunshine down on the muddy beach below the quayside. A small crowd was gathering, walking around it, peering into it.

  ‘I think we’d better go,’ said J.J., getting to her feet.

  ‘Go where?’ I asked her.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

  Walking away through the streets, with more and more people now hurrying past us towards the harbour to join the growing crowd, J.J. was explaining everything. ‘We have to find the police station, but I’m not sure if there is one in Mevagissey. We have to go and report to a policeman as soon as we can. You have to claim asylum properly, otherwise you will be illegal, an illegal immigrant – I told you, remember? We don’t want you ending up in a detention centre or prison, or being sent back to Afghanistan, do we? I know you want to find your mother and Uncle Said, but that may not be easy now. So even before we do that, we must report to a police station to tell them you are here. Don’t worry. I’ll look after you. Stay close now.’

  We turned into a dark alleyway, where there was no one about. Then J.J. was crouching down beside me to talk to Zaya and Natoban. ‘And you two had better hide away in my pocket now. They’ll search Omar, but they won’t search me. I can explain all about him when we find a police station. But I can’t explain away you two. Not in a million years!’ She took one of them in each hand and slipped them into the pocket of her cagoule. ‘And for goodness’ sake, keep your heads down,’ she told them. ‘Keep quiet. Not a peek, not a squeak, you hear?’

  We walked around for some time, before J.J. asked a lady who was opening up her café where the police station was in Mevagissey. I looked away because the woman kept staring at me, and it was not a welcoming stare.

  ‘No police station here,’ she told J.J. ‘You’ll have to go to St Austell. Miles away. Nice yellow sailing cagoule you’ve got. You’ve come in on a boat by the looks of you. Him too?’ She was still staring at me when I looked up. But then I saw she had caught sight of something over my shoulder. ‘Well I never, there’s a stroke of luck: a police car.’ She waved the police car down.

  There were two police officers inside. She went over and was having a word with them, looking back at us from time to time. The car doors opened and the two police officers got out, putting on their caps. They were walking towards us. I felt like running, but J.J. had me by the arm, and was holding me tight. Then she was telling them who she was and who I was and how she had found me out on the open sea in a boat, all alone, and brought me here. Holding up her bandaged wrist, she was explaining how without my help she could never have gone on rowing and reached the coast.

  The two police officers were both agog at her story. She went on, all about Uncle Said and my mother who should have been living in Fore Street, and how they kept a café there. She told them how she had been rowing single-handed
around the world for over two years, and that although she hadn’t been able to finish exactly how she wanted, nor in Salcombe as she intended, how she was pleased to be home, and pleased to be in Mevagissey. ‘We are trying to find a police station,’ she went on. ‘My friend Omar needs to claim asylum.’

  When she finished, one of the police officers said, ‘I know you, don’t I?’

  And the other said, ‘You’re that J.J. or something or other. You’re that girl, aren’t you? You’re that girl on the telly, in the papers. I’ve seen you. You’ve been rowing round the world for your dad, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ J.J. told them. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Now about my friend’s mother and his Uncle Said – he’s a British citizen, been living here for years – we couldn’t find them in the café in Fore Street where they were supposed to be. We went there. It’s empty. Up for sale.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the other police officer. ‘I used to go in there. Nice place, nice people, good coffee, great sticky buns. They closed it.’

  ‘They left,’ the lady said, who still hadn’t gone away. ‘I know them. They haven’t moved far. They’ve got that new fish and chip café down on the harbour. Owzat, they call it. Good name. Nice people. And it’s a good chippy too. Old Said does all the frying and she looks after the customers. Best food in town I reckon. She’s your mother then, dear?’ she said, being a lot more kindly towards me now than before.

  ‘First things first,’ one of the police officers said. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to keep the boy with us, take him back to the station. We have to inform the immigration people, take his details, and all that. You come with us, lad. We’ll look after you.’