Bleak, pitch-darkness like a tomb surrounded them. There was nothing to be seen or heard…
The sound of the engine, breathing of the "harik" migrants, and waves that started gradually to move the boat up and down as it went deeper into the Mediterranean.
The lights of Tangier disappeared or almost disappeared. The lights of the coast of the Spanish town of Tarifa, that was in plain sight in the boat, felt jealous from those of its sister, so they disappeared, too. Black, thick clouds concealed the light of the moon, so they completed the catastrophic scene in every single detail.
Nothing but water surrounded the boat and its riders on the left and the right. Every now and then, one of the migrant tried to light the darkness with their mobile phone. Si Maymoun would rebuke them in a hissing-like voice, ‘turn it off or I’ll throw you and the mobile off the boat. There’s no room for fun making and leniency here. If you need to arrive safe, you’ve to precisely follow the instruction’. Si Maymoun whose face was curved of stone would grumble and continue steering.
The teeth of most riders were chattering as the sea started imposing its cold authority on the place and time. It was its own call…its own playground…and they were like poor orphan children waiting for food at the tables of ignoble people.
Khaled remembered that his mother used to warn him whenever he went to have fun on the beach of Tangier,
‘Never mess with three: fire, the government, and the sea’.
He actually never cared to mess with the first two, but he always had a lot of fun with the sea of Tangier. He used to swim far from the beach and challenge his friends to keep pace with him. The response he used to receive was only silence or the echo of his voice.
The sea of Tangier was never tough on him. It used to tolerate his silliness and recklessness with more patience and forbearance. He could not remember he came close to drowning.
He heard a lot of stories about skilled swimmers who drowned because they trusted the sea. He said to himself that he would not be one of them. These things only happen to others.
Was this sea the same sea that used to have fun with him? It did not seem so at all.
A shiver ran through his body, too. He was trying with extreme difficulty to resist the chattering of his teeth and the quivering of his hands.
Coldness was becoming severer, and time was passing as slow as a depressed snail!
A passenger steamer passed near them. It was returning from Europe to Tangier. Si Maymoun turned off the engine and let the boat swing with the tide.
Most people whom the Spanish Civil Guard captured did not notice that these ship were able to detect them and report them.
Si Maymoun was actually really wise and knew well what he was doing.
The steamer passed by them safely. When Si Maymoun started the engine again, the riders murmured as if they saw a dear person they were missing.
In the deep, dark sea in a cloudy night in a boat surrounded by death from all directions, the sound of a boat engine seemed like the best companion narrating story before the temporary death of sleeping…or the permanent one.
Six complete hours passed before they could see feeble lights of a Spanish village.
Khaled whispered to Si Maymoun,
Not great of course. It seemed the clouds got bored of the game of hiding the moon. They decided to get serious.
Lightening…thunder…then rain poured and drenched by the rain. Some people tried in vain to cover their heads and bodies.
Si Maymoun lost for the first time that firm, confident look on his face. He said,
The answer comes too fast and practical. A massive bang comes from the bottom of the boat as if hit by a solid body. There is a considerable promiscuity, and the bodies of the riders hit each other because of the strong blow.
Khaled receives a strong kick on his face, and an elbow digs deep in his stomach. He endeavors to restore his balance finding out that water is leaking from a hole made by apparently a sharp rock.
Khaled read once that the captain is usually the last person to leave his sinking ship, but Si Maymoun did not. He was the first to jump for his life.
Khaled shouted as he was watching Si Maymoun swimming skillfully towards the beach.
One of the twenty-first century Greek tragedies started. People read about secret migrants who were found dead, and fish had eaten their eyes. They feel sorry for them and wish they rest in peace. After that, they say a couple of maxims about life, and they continue their daily lives.
Now you are one of these people. In reality nothing happens to the others only. Everything happens to all people. You just do not know when you will be one of those ‘others’.
As the boat was sinking in the sea, panic broke out claiming the lives of those who knew how to swim and those who did not. Drowning people clutched at anything. Khaled knew that very well. Moreover, he experienced that a couple of times in Tangier when he rescued people who were about to drown. He was lucky then because they complied with his requests calmly, but it was impossible to know whom to address at that time.
His first decision was to dive in the cold water trying to move as far as possible from the boat. He held his breath in the depth of the sea finding out that there was no difference. Whether he opened his eyes or not, darkness was the answer with each attempt.At last he rose to the surface and took a deep breath. His idea worked well to some extent. The noise of the drowning people who were asking for help reached him from afar.
Should he go to rescue one of them? It would the biggest stupidity ever before dying. Sound of heavy breathing reached him. He turned and looked intently finding the pregnant woman was barely resisting to remain on the surface of the water. How could she come that long way? She was looking at him beggingly. She did not say anything, but she was begging him with eyes full of terror.
Could she understand him? Whether she did or not, she compiled. Khaled started swimming guided by the lights of the beach which was refracting because of the rain drops.
He swam and swam. The beach was fixed in its place and was not moving.
He continued swimming at the same rate and with the same force. He was no longer able feel anything at all.
He turned into a swimming machine trying to save himself and his companion.
He did not know whether the space between him and the beach narrowed down or not, but he felt that his strength started to fail him. He barely could push his hands up, and he could not feel his shoulders at all. His legs froze because of the bitterly cold water.
The woman’s palms were crossed rigidly around his shoulders.
His muscles collapsed while he was trying and trying.
He thought of giving up then he resorted to the remaining adrenaline and survival instinct to lift his arms and pull down through the water again.
Is it the end? What a fool you are, Khaled, to listen to the voice of revenge and hatred! If God does not bestow mercy on you, dead you are. He raises his eyes to the sky supplicating God. He prays and prays with the prayers he knows, and other prayers that came to his mind moment.
Is it the sand his feet touched? Is it really the beach?
Nobody can answer this question excepts for Khaled who is no longer able to feel anything at all.
All visible objects faded. Pitch-darkness veiled his eyes then his mind.
Then everything ends.