Читать книгу The Gaza Project - Cyrill Delvin - Страница 10

Abdoul was out on the ocean with his grandfather. From what seemed far away he could hear the hum of the outboard engine. He felt neither too cold nor too hot. Only the intensity of the light irritated him. Were they on their way back? He wanted to open his eyes to see the fish buckets, but couldn’t. And yet he could see Amir bent over him with a smile. But Amir was so young. Instead of the white beard he had a black moustache. Abdoul was just going to ask him about it when the scene slipped away.

Then he heard water swishing and sputtering. He was holding a shiny golden shell in his hands. He had never seen one more beautiful. The outside was so smooth, it reflected his face. Behind his mirror image a stunningly lovely mermaid climbed out of the water and over the edge of the boat. Now you have found it. Come with me. Forget your worries and your grief. Be my guest – forever.

The voice sounded alluring. Abdoul wanted to turn towards it when the scene vanished again. He couldn’t move. He wanted to talk, but couldn’t open his mouth. Just as he started to feel irritated, everything went black around him. The shell got smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a glowing golden spot amidst nothingness. Still very beautiful. Then the darkness engulfed it as well.

Eventually he perceived a gentle swaying motion. He opened his eyelids and looked at the large fan rotating above him on the ceiling. When he moved over on his side in the comfortable bed, he recognised the blue sky through a porthole. He was evidently on a vessel calmly floating through the ocean. But when he tried to sit up to get a better view, an excruciating pain shot through his stomach. He sank back into the soft pillow with a groan and gasped aloud, fighting the surging drowsiness not very successfully. He had no idea how long he had been lying like that in his semi-conscious state.

Over time his consciousness returned, like a faithful friend coming home after a long journey. Or like a brother, who… the thought of Qadim abruptly catapulted him into the land of the wide-awake. He felt uneasy. Shouldn’t Qadim also be here? With a bandage around his head. But Abdoul found himself alone in the cabin and the heavy iron door remained shut.

Again he tried to get up, and again he fell back onto the bed in agony. The severe stomach pains were still there. His hand slowly and timidly touched his chest and then went down to his navel until he felt a dressing. He didn’t have the courage to venture any further. The pain had been inflicted by Barek’s attack; that much he remembered. How did I get onto this ship, and what did they do to my stomach? I hope they didn’t take anything out! He was shocked at the thought. In his village there had been rumours that rich Israelis bought organs for their sick children.

»My shell, where is my shell?« he heard himself whisper, now distinctly remembering that he had hung it around his neck after liberating it from its hiding place in the school’s storeroom. But it wasn’t there. Exhausted, he sank back into the pillow. Has it all been for nothing? In his desperation Abdoul cried out for his brother and grandfather; first quietly, then louder.

The cabin door opened with a squeaking sound. A short man entered and introduced himself: »Salām, my name is Ḥusām Ḫalīl. I am the ship’s doctor. And this is Jada. She’s a nurse.« He confidently looked at Abdoul: »And who are you?«

»My name is Abdoul Raḥim…« and after some hesitation, »ibn Amir from…« A moment later he tried again in a more firm voice: »From Gan Or, Ṣadafah – Abdoul ibn Amir Ṣadafah Raḥim, is my full name!«

Ḥusām scrutinised him with interest. »I have operated on your stomach. One of the small organs called the spleen was ruptured and is now sewn back together. It’s fine again. I had to make an incision to the abdominal wall, but it will heal in a few days and then you can get up.«

The little patient gazed enquiringly at Ḥusām.

»That was yesterday, at lunchtime. Do you know why your stomach hurt so much?«

»No. Maybe because Barek hit me?«

»That’s possible.«

Abdoul involuntarily had to think of Qadim. His eyes became moist and he turned his head away towards the window. »Where am I?« he asked in a constrained voice.

»You are on one of the IWAC ships. It’s an aid agency. We’re anchored at the Gaza coast.«

Abdoul eyed the doctor questioningly again.

Ḥusām understood and added: »The ship is firmly anchored and not going anywhere. You’ll be able to go home again soon. But now I have to look at your bandage to check if everything’s the way it should be.«

With the young nurse’s help Ḥusām started changing the dressing. A few times Abdoul grimaced with pain, but didn’t utter a sound.

»You are a very brave boy, and I bet you don’t often lose a boxing match. Am I right?«

A smile darted across Abdoul’s face. Jada tidied up and left the cabin with an encouraging nod. The doctor sat down beside the bed.

»Ibn Amir Ṣadafah, an unusual name,« he observed as his right hand twirled his moustache.

Abdoul looked at him quizzically.

»IbnṢadafah, ibnṢadafah…« the physician pondered. Suddenly he cried out: »But of course!« He was obviously excited. »The seashell!« Presently he extracted the shell from the bedside locker and handed it to Abdoul. »I was surprised that a boy around here would be wearing the sign of the mermaids .«

For a long time, Abdoul held his treasure in both hands before putting it back around his neck.

Startled, he asked: »How do you know the story of the mermaids?«

»I don’t know the story, but for us Egyptians the shells are a special present from the mermaids – for the fishermen. To bring them luck. And what’s your story?«

That broke the ice and the boy talked about his grandfather Amir, the fisherman, and that the most beautiful of all the shells one finds in one’s lifetime would lead the people to the mermaids.

»This is an especially beautiful shell. Do you think it is the most beautiful one?«

»I don’t know …«

»Um. I don’t believe it’s time for you to go to the mermaids. Not yet.« After a short pause, Ḥusām considered it to be the right moment to ask the decisive question. He had noticed how the boy had been distressed at the mention of Barek earlier on: »You told me that you are from Gan Or. How did you end up alone and injured in Gaza?«

Abdoul’s cheerful expression vanished. He was about to turn his back to the doctor, but suppressed the reflex. For the first time in ages he seemed to have met somebody he could trust. Perhaps it was the man’s appearance? He was small and round with a big moustache and laughter lines around his eyes. He had also taken his time with him. Most importantly, he was able to listen without interrupting. Very much like his grandfather.

Once he had made up his mind, the words came gushing out – the seashell hidden in the Qur’anic school’s storeroom, his brother Qadim in the courtyard, Gan Or where everything had started. Ḥusām listened and only interrupted when he hadn’t understood something correctly. The beginning of Abdoul’s tale was simple enough… then the grenades; that’s where the torrent of words abruptly stopped.

As a doctor, Ḥusām always ardently prayed to Allah that taking care of his patients‘ physical needs would also improve their mental state. But scars inevitably remained.

He still carried them himself. His wife had been killed ten years ago following an attack in Luxor. He had been fortunate to be on duty on the surgical ward of the local hospital at the time. But not fortunate enough to be in time to save his wife and their unborn son. He felt a rage unlike any he had experienced for a long time. The radicals had let him know that his wife and the unborn would be received as martyrs in paradise. Collateral damage? He empathised with anyone who took up a weapon in a similar situation – regardless who it was aimed at.

»No,« he uttered instinctively.

Abdoul looked at Ḥusām, who was standing by the window now, wondering what went on inside the man’s heart.

»Why did you bring the boy here?« Ted had confronted the physician after the surgery. »You should have taken him to the hospital in Gaza.«

»Then I could have just have left him where he was found. You know as well as I do that they can only treat what they can see. They don’t have the facilities we have.«

»We cannot fix each individual case. Not yet! It will take years before Gaza has a reasonably functioning healthcare system. You know that better than anyone. We are not the Samaritans and this is not a hospital ship.« Ted was really angry.

Just as enraged, Ḥusām retaliated: »What kind of an organisation are we if we can’t help the individual? He’s a child and wouldn’t have stood a chance!«

Although they both worked for a common cause and liked each other, they didn’t always share the same opinions. Ḥusām lacked the patience and couldn’t distance himself the way Ted could. As the person in charge of primary health care for the Gaza Strip population, he was mainly faced with emergencies rather than strategic developments. He was also responsible for reporting medical shortfalls and possibilities to the IWAC. This was their second year of operating in Palestine. Only two short years and Ḥusām could hardly wait. He clenched his fist: »I would do it again!«

»I know and I’m glad that we don’t have to use our floating surgery for our own people too often. I sincerely hope that the boy will recover!«

Only when Abdoul cleared his throat did Ḥusām turn around.

»When am I allowed to get up and go outside?«

Ḥusām had to smile. Impatience appeared to dominate inside the cabin at the moment.

»Your stomach still needs rest and you have to stay in bed until I tell you. Jada will bring you something to eat and drink, so you will soon get better.« Before closing the door, he added: »And she’ll put a mirror on the wall so that it’s easier for you to see the outside.«

The ocean’s varying moods were the only thing Abdoul could watch during several days in bed. He would stare at the water for hours, floating between his dreams and reality. Over time, he immersed himself in an alien world through the mirror.

In his fantasy he didn’t only populate the sea with the auspicious mermaids and the fish he already knew. Conjured up out of nothing, they were joined by medusas, seashells, algae, crabs and squid. From the bottom of the ocean he imagined the fishing boats dancing on the water’s surface. Sometimes he got entangled in one of the nets descending from above. But he was always able to free himself.

At midday, the sun’s rays penetrated deep into the water and jellyfish breezed past him as light as fairies. The shells on the ocean bed had opened and more than once he found large pearls glowing iridescently in the copper-coloured sunset.

At night he noticed horrifying eyes staring up at him from the impenetrable black of the ocean. Large, green flickering ones, small, reddish gleaming ones or bluish ones furtively winking at him. They were the eyes of the kraken and those of other big and small sea monsters. Star-like, they orbited in the deep waters and glistened until the early morning. Only when dawn came did all the fish seem grey and rigid, like tin soldiers before being painted.

Ḥusām made as much time for his patient as he could. The Palestinian boy was mostly interested in the ocean and its creatures. He could never learn enough about it. Even his grandfather hadn’t known as much about the marine animals as the doctor. Around the third day, Ḥusām brought something special. »I found this for you in the ship’s library. It’s an old almanac for sailors in the Mediterranean. You can keep it. The captain doesn’t need it anymore.«

Abdoul’s was mesmerised when he browsed through the volume. The almanac contained all sorts of facts about sailing ships and navigation. It also included many maps and large, incomprehensible charts. What fascinated him most were the numerous drawings and photos of the ocean’s inhabitants. Even stranger and more wonderful than the creatures of his daydreams. Hundreds of fish species, mammals, birds, snails and slugs, algae and plants.

»I wish I could read it,« he said regretfully one evening.

»Well, you can always learn the language.«

»Do you know it?«

»Yes, I learned it during my studies. The language is English and the names of the animals and the plants are also written in Latin.«

The following day, Abdoul was allowed to get up. He was delighted and explored the hospital ward. Ḥusām also showed him the operating theatre and explained the many gruesome instruments. Abdoul would have loved to have a look at the whole ship, but that wasn’t permitted. Instead, he went to the adjoining quarterdeck whenever he could where he would sit for hours engrossed in his almanac.

Jada, who unlike Ḥusām was very reserved, gave him an old patient journal and colouring pens. Abdoul sketched one creature after the next on the empty back pages. He also drew mermaids playing tricks on the fish and driving them into the fishing nets. He carefully copied the Latin descriptions, too. Whenever he knew the name of a fish, he added it in Arabic; when he didn’t he gave them melodic fantasy names.

Ḥusām was impressed and occasionally made time to discuss particularly difficult sea creatures and their names. But they still didn’t discover what kind of shell Abdoul was wearing around his neck. The almanac didn’t mention anything of the kind. The other books on board also didn’t describe a comparable specimen.

»Perhaps it’s an extremely rare species or one of a kind, a maverick that looks completely different to its parents.«

The boy liked the idea that the shell may be a maverick. It felt very connected to him. The ocean and its creatures had cast such a spell over him that everything around him only hazily penetrated his conscience. His stomach wasn’t so important anymore; it would heal by itself anyway. Only at night was he sometimes haunted by dark thoughts and memories of Qadim and the Madrasa and only rarely now did he miss his family or remember the missiles hitting the beach at Gan Or.

Soon he felt safer on the ship than he had felt anywhere else. He hardly wondered why he never met anyone but Ḥusām and Jada. The Israeli patrol boats, which regularly passed close to the Malta III, didn’t capture his attention either. And so he gradually recuperated.

But one evening he was woken from his fairy tale: »I think you can go back to Gaza next week. Your stomach has healed.«

»Do I really have to?«

»You do. You can’t stay on the ship.« Ḥusām noticed Abdoul’s expression. »Aren’t you glad?«

»Why? Where should I go?«

»We already discussed that you can stay on in the settlement. Haīkal will take care of you and you can help me.«

»Yes – but…«

»What?«

Ḥusām knew exactly what the boy was getting at. He had become very fond of him. Without a family he desperately needed a home but Ḥusām wasn’t in a position to offer it. »You’ll soon make new friends in al-Qubāʾ. You are a big boy and you’re resourceful.«

The two of them silently watched the nightfall’s orange and copper-coloured lullaby on the water’s surface.

Abdoul gathered all his courage: »You said that there will soon be a school. Can I learn English and the other language? The one in the almanac for the names of the fish?«

»Why do you want to learn that?«

»I want to know all the animals in the sea and later I want to be a great fisherman.«

»Well, I will talk to the headmaster.«

»You promise?«

»I promise!«

Ḥusām extended his hand and Abdoul shook it happily.

Three days later the time had come. One of the smaller boats took them towards the coast. Abdoul was sitting right up front. Just as he had done on his trips with this grandfather, he leaned over the prow and observed the boat ploughing its way through the ocean. The shell around his neck slipped out of his shirt and was now being towed across the water by its string.

When Abdoul looked back at the big ship after a while, he saw a light flashing on the upper deck. He thought he recognised the shape of a man watching them through a pair of binoculars. A strange feeling took hold of him. During the entire time on the ship he had only met the doctor and the nurse. Occasionally the shadow of a person would dart across the afterdeck where the nursing ward was situated. And sometimes he could discern a deck-hand leaning against the railing closer to the prow of the ship. But nobody had ever approached him to talk to him. All the more mysterious was the man watching them now.

Ḥusām looked at him: »It’s not as if weird things go on aboard. I mean, in a way they do, looking at it from a certain perspective. What I’m trying to say is… it’s okay.« A while later he mumbled: »Everything will be alright. That’s what we’re here for.«

Abdoul didn’t understand what he meant and was just about to probe when Ḥusām continued: »We’ll be at the beach shortly. There you can help Haīkal to unload the boat and then go to al-Qubāʾ with him. I’m going to do my rounds in the camp.«

The boy nodded.

»And don’t forget that your stomach has grown back together, but it will be a while until it’s as strong as it used to be. So don’t lift anything heavy and… no brawls!«

The boy placed his hand in the warm water. The wave he caused was bigger than that of the shell and smaller than that of the boat. But it was his alone. He automatically thought about Qadim, about his siblings, his parents and his grandfather. But he also thought about the feeling of comfort and safety he now had to leave behind. For the first time in ages a tear rolled down his cheek and trickled into the water where it merged with the sea and vanished into nothing.