Wind-whipped waves flung the boats about as they broke free of their moorings. Masses of dark storm clouds scudded by overhead, dragging clear blue sky and sunshine behind them. Good. If the weather settled it would be easier to find them. She wondered, for the thousandth time, why she was out, alone in a sailboat, in this impossible weather. She knew nothing about sailing. She looked at the unmanned helm, which held steady in the fierce winds; the sails billowed out fully, the boat tilted at a crazy, impossible angle, the spinnaker unfurled itself and the boat shot ahead.
She clung to the dinghy as it rose and fell with the wild swells of the storm. At the crest of each wave she searched for the sailboat but saw only a huge cargo ship. It filled the horizon as it chugged slowly through the rough sea. Each sway of the waves pushed the dinghy closer until it bumped up against the hull of the ship and came close to capsizing. She reached out to touch the ship. Flecks of rust stuck to her fingers. Groaning ropes and crates, as they shifted with the movements of the ship were barely audible under the pitiful human moaning. She pushed against the hull with her hands, tried to force the dinghy away from the ship, looked for a way to climb up or to alert someone that she was there.
Suddenly, she hovered in the air about forty meters above the deck where at least four hundred people huddled in small groups. Her eyes burned and she flinched from the stench of urine, feces, and vomit that rose to the skies. She clamped her mouth shut tightly and held her stomach to squelch the bile rising in her throat. A woman in childbirth screamed; women around her tried to soothe, tried to help. The men averted their eyes and kept the children as far away as possible. The cargo groaned again. In sympathy to the human plight?
The wind tore at the sails. The thin nylon jacket she wore provided no protection whatsoever. She tried to shield her eyes from the droplets of salt water that made them tear and sting painfully. Her cheeks stung too, lashed by strands of her hair as the wind whipped it about her face. She blinked several times to clear her eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing but waves.
The storm ended, the seas calmed, the sails lowered and she woke to the sounds of sirens as three fire trucks raced past the house.
*
“I say, send ’em back.”
“Come on, Carl. We’re all descendants of immigrants.”
“Who came to this country legally, don’t forget. These guys arrive on some rusty old boat and expect us to welcome them with open arms.”
“And it’s not politically correct to say what we really think, so we keep quiet and they keep coming.”
“They come from terrible conditions—”
“They’re terrorists, for Christ’s sake.”
“My father-in-law has been on a waiting list for his surgery for months, but they opened a bunch of hospital beds for these guys.”
“Did you hear they were complaining about conditions in the intake center. Clean beds, flush toilets and three meals a day; that’s gotta beat the hold of a rusty old ship and day and they have the nerve to bitch about their treatment here.”
“Did you see the woman they interviewed who said she came here twenty years ago, through the proper channels and felt these guys should too?”
“I don’t know. It’s so hard to say what’s right or wrong…”
“Australia’s got the right idea with Christmas Island.”
“We’ve got a shoreline of islands. Why don’t we do the same thing?”
She left the staffroom feeling slightly nauseous. She’d seen the “rusty old ship” and knew how bad it was. Still she had some sympathy for the arguments against letting in boatloads of illegal immigrants, when those who applied through the proper channels waited years to be processed.
Of course it wasn’t just the immigration issue that left her feeling sick, it was everything she did. How could she possibly know if her actions were the right ones? She wasn’t God. Did God, if there was one, even know? Did the guys controlling her know?
*
“The rusty old ship bit is because of her latest assignment. The horror of the conditions preying on her mind.”
Elspeth's mouth fell open. “Are you telling me that humans relive their days at night? That’s too weird.”
“I know.” When I’d first observed humans dreaming I was astounded. I have no idea how they ever get a peaceful night’s sleep?”
“I understand the rusty ship part, but why did she dream about a sail boat and a dinghy?”
“Well…” I launched into an explanation of humans' dream analysis. Em’s dream likely meant she was frustrated—sexually.
I didn’t tell Elspeth that I’d been having water dreams too.