Whoever Fears the Sea, Justin Fox [i love reading .TXT] 📗

the length of the dhow and on to the foredeck, forcing him to kneel. ‘Hands on head, face front!’

Paul closed his eyes, expecting another blow. Blood ran down his cheek, but there was no pain. The pirate turned to the sailors and began shouting in Swahili. He heard another blow and the thud of a body hitting the deck.

Then there was silence for a long while and the drone of the engine took over. Paul’s knees began to burn, his arms ached. The pain of keeping his hands on his head hurt more than his cheek. He needed water. After an hour or two — Paul had lost track of time — he was allowed to go and sit with the others on the main deck. A bottle of water was passed around and he drank sparingly, aware that it was meant for all of them. Rafiki sat with Latif and was given an extra bottle of water. The wounded sailor appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

The pirates piled all the crew’s luggage in the middle of the waist and began opening bags, flinging possessions everywhere. Soon there was a small heap of booty in the shape of wallets, knives and sunglasses. Two of the pirates were now wearing Paul’s T-shirts. One of them unzipped his toiletry bag and pulled out a pack of condoms. He tore open a sachet and blew a condom balloon which he released into the air. All the pirates laughed. Paul felt the humiliation flushing his face.

The red pirate found his Nikon and watch, as well as the dollars hidden in a sock at the bottom of his backpack. He came over and slapped Paul across the wound on his cheek.

‘Please, I’m not American —’

‘No, you liar. Shut up!’

The pirate gathered up the booty and shared it among his cohorts, careful to divide the spoils equally. Jamal’s crew was ordered to repack their bags and stow them.

The sun dipped towards the cursive horizon of a dune-lined shore. The skiff drew alongside and a bag of ingredients was handed aboard. One of the pirates descended to the galley and prepared the evening meal which was served at dusk. The pirates squatted around a pot on the foredeck and told the crew to turn their backs while they ate. When they were done, the pot with the remains of the food was returned to the galley.

The wind remained light and most of their propulsion was derived from the engine. The moon threw a silver path across the water as the dark shadow of the skiff led Jamal ever northward. Their stomachs grumbled and the water bottle was long empty. They tried to sleep but without mattresses the deck was hard.

Paul woke from semi-slumber to hear a pirate hoiking up a gob of phlegm and spitting into the pot with a ghastly rasping sound. Then another followed. Paul pictured the green teeth of his captor. There was much giggling, then the food was served cold. None of the hostages was able to eat and the pot was returned to the galley.

‘You not hungry!’ shouted the leader. ‘You no like our food. We will see.’

The pirates retired to the foredeck and Taki was sent to the tiller to steer for the rest of the night.

‘It’s a new group,’ whispered Husni, lying on the deck beside Paul. ‘They’re operating much further south than I was told. Because we have nothing of value, I thought no one would bother us. I’m so sorry, Paul.’

‘It’s not your fault. What can we do?’

‘Nothing. We must do as they say. They normally steal the cargo of Kenyan dhows, then let them go. Unfortunately, they probably think you might bring a ransom.’

‘Me? But I’m an African, just like them. I’m not a Westerner. I’m worth nothing. Shit, do you know how much a freelance scriptwriter earns in South Africa?’

‘You are white, you look European. It is enough for them. They won’t treat us too badly.’

‘They shot Latif.’

‘That was a mistake.’

‘They might make another mistake.’

‘We must hope they do not. They only want money. We will negotiate. Others will negotiate. Perhaps your government will pay.’

‘For me? Not likely.’

‘Maybe your family can pay.’

‘My parents live in a small house in a lousy Joburg suburb. Jesus Christ. We have no access to any kind of real money.’

‘Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.’

‘Today was long, Husni.’

They fell silent, the pulse of the deck passing through their bodies, willing them into a reluctant sleep.

 

CHAPTER 25

 

Paul opened his eyes to the sound of a pirate banging about in the galley. The morning was bright and he sat up, shielding his eyes from the sun. The crew were stirring around him. Husni rolled over and groaned, taking in their circumstances with a disbelieving look. The youngest pirate, a small lad with light-brown skin and a pinched face, swaggered over with the pot from the previous night. ‘Breakfast,’ he said, tossing it to the deck.

It was a mess of congealed rice and brown beans cooked in milk. There was whitish scum on top. Each took a small handful from the edge, where the muck looked slightly less revolting. Paul watched his shipmates pulling faces as they swallowed. This might be the only meal they’d get that day. He ran a finger along the rim of the pot, put it to his lips and found that the cold goo didn’t taste as bad as he’d feared. They all forced down a few mouthfuls before handing the pot back.

The morning grew hot. Paul’s cap was in his bag and there was no way he could get at it. His face was already bright red from the previous day’s exposure and he moved surreptitiously to follow the shifting shade of the sail. Husni was permitted