Tidetown (30 page)

The next morning Assussy is pulling the soiled sheets from the captain's bed. She knows he will enter the room soon, to try to trap her. She sings a song from home. A song of love and longing and innocence. Assussy hears his footsteps and instinctively she grips the key she holds in her hand. He stands in the doorway, large and looming. The smile she greets him with surprises the captain, as do the words she utters, words she has been taught to recite. Words to entice.

‘Lie down, sir, and I will bring you a drink.'

‘So you do know some words,' he says, rubbing the back of his hand across her cheek, then sitting on the bed and pulling off his knee-high leather boots.

‘Bring rum and meat … and you,' he sniggers.

She smiles once more before leaving the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her and turning the key in the lock. As she walks back along the corridor she can hear him beating his fists on the locked door, cursing and swearing and damning her to hell.

‘So it all worked out as we planned,' says Deni, with Assussy at his side, as she holds aloft the key to the captain's cabin.

Cain Bates stands on the deck of the ship, looking shocked and worried, his hands tied behind his back.

‘So, Mr Bates,' I shout so everyone can hear, ‘you will be given the chance to tell us what you and the captain are plotting.'

His toothless grin tells me persuasion is in order.

‘Onto the plank!'

The grin recedes as the hapless helmsman is hauled onto the plank that protrudes from the side of the ship with only air between its end and the shark-filled sea below.

‘You know what happens now,' I say. ‘You tell us what we suspect or else we feed you to our fishy friends and then put the captain in your place and give him the same choice.'

The other crew members, hired hands from the port, stand close by, aware that the power balance has shifted, keen to be on the side in the ascendancy.

At the prod of my sword Cain Bates is edged to the end of the plank. Below, enticed by fresh pig's blood, four large sharks thrash and circle.

‘Listen. I'll speak!' he squeals.

‘No stalling,' I say. ‘No lies. I will know if you are lying.'

‘Pirates from the islands,' he says, teetering on the edge. ‘We're to sell the refugees to them.'

‘When?' I demand, jabbing him in the back.

‘Soon … tomorrow … the next day. When they get here … the coordinates on the map …' he gabbers, fear in his eyes, the sounds of gnashing teeth and thrashing tailfins coming up from below.

As Cain Bates predicted we arrive at the coordinates two days after he saved himself from the sharks. We drop anchor and wait, eyes and telescopes scouring the horizon. Released from the prison of his own cabin, the captain sits forlornly at one end of the lifeboat that bobs around in the waves below the prow of the ship. It is tied to the anchor chain, ready to be freed once the pirate boat comes into sight. Cain Bates is his sole companion, sitting as far from his master as is possible in so small a vessel.

On our ship, the crewmen, now resigned to my direct control, prepare the cannon for action. We all work together to ready the ship for a brisk escape. Some of the children scurry up the mast to tighten the sails; the women stay below preparing food and securing the cargo. The men are on deck awaiting what might befall. Hours pass. And then, as the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, we see the ship approach. Through the telescope I make out the telltale signs of stateless insignia and the motley crew on board.

‘Release the lifeboat!' I shout, and the captain and Cain Bates begin to row towards the oncoming pirate ship.

We watch as the big vessel comes ever closer, with the lifeboat and its two reluctant occupants bobbing up and down in the waves between us.

‘Hold fire,' I say, gauging the distances, mindful of my training with the rebels.

As the pirate ship turns broadside, two hundred yards away, I order the cannon to be fired.

There's a flash of flame, a blast in the air, and the heavy metal ball hurtles through space.

‘A direct hit!' I shout out as I see a gaping hole appear in the side of the ship.

Soon lifeboats are being hurried overboard from the damaged craft, and sailors are leaping from the listing vessel.

‘Anchor up, full speed ahead.'

The wind whips up in our favour and in no time we are racing away from the scene.

Through my telescope I see that the lifeboat with Mr Bates and the captain is joined by three other lifeboats. About a league in the distance is a trawler heading in the direction of the flotilla, clearly responding to the time-honoured duty of saving those in peril on the sea.

The stars are out tonight, guiding our way. A calmness pervades now that the captain and his henchman are gone. I am in command of the ship and the crew are doing my bidding. The breeze is balmy and the sea is still. We are all on deck enjoying the sense of peace and the kindness of the elements.

‘As I told you, storytelling is a huge part of our culture,' says Deni. ‘Tonight we will tell the children the tale of the white lion. So they can pass the story on to their children.'

Small bowls of rice are handed around, flavoured with a relish from the lovingly preserved highland herbs that the women had brought aboard. The children are gathered around. Deni stands in front of them and begins to speak, whispering asides to me in the words I can understand.

‘Children, this is a story about our people. One I was told by the elders, whose own elders told it to them. You know that our totem animal is the white lion, the messenger of the gods. His job is to protect the peace and prosperity of us all. Shall I tell you how it all began?'

The children nod eagerly, always ready for a story in the telling.

‘Well, many years ago Letsatsi was born into a pride of lions. All the others had the usual tawny colouring, but he was different. His white coat set him apart from the rest of his pride and he was pushed away. Lost and alone in the wilderness he was hunted down by a pack of hyenas that chased him up a tree. As the hyenas bayed for his blood, a young outcast, a man called Gisani, came by. Gisani risked his life for Letsatsi and scared the hyenas away. Letsatsi continued on his travels, but was always persecuted for being different, for being white. One day, forlorn and beaten, he returned to his pride, But still they did not accept him. His older cousins terrorised and tormented him, forcing him to survive as best he could on the scraps of their kills. He left once more and again was forced to face alone the dangers of the African bush. Although still young, he journeyed far from the land of his birth. Finally, he met Nkulu, a tawny-coloured lion. They became allies and Nkulu shared his kills and taught Letsatsi to hunt. Letsatsi learnt to survive on his own, proving himself by stalking and then bringing down a stampeding wildebeest. And so he grew strong and confident. He survived all his tribulations and found his place in the world, sending out a message from the gods of the value of each and every being. And so our totem, the white lion, teaches us to be proud of the people we are, of our beliefs and our stories, of our culture and our colour, whatever the world may think.'

The children sit quietly, each living out the story in their mind's eye, each knowing something more about where they've come from and where they are going. Deni looks from face to face, then turns to me.

‘Do you have totem animals in your culture, Oscar?' asks Deni.

I think about it. The obvious answer is no. But I know there's also a yes to be found.

‘My special animal is a tiger. It has been for years. It's like a guardian. A protector.'

Deni's face lights up. ‘Then you must now tell us a story,' he says, raising his voice, gesturing the children to pay attention. ‘Listen everyone, Oscar's totem is a tiger, like ours is the white lion. And he'll tell us a story, won't you, Oscar?'

‘How can I not,' I say, searching my mind: my library of stories. The children settle in anticipation. Some of the parents have joined the party and they too are eager to hear what this foreigner has to say.

‘So,' I begin, ‘there was a bear and a tiger who desired to become humans. They were told by the gods that if they could endure the darkness of a cave for one hundred days, eating nothing more than mugwort and cloves of garlic, then they would be transformed into humans.'

I wait while Deni interprets in a tongue so lyrical, so easy on the ear that it seems to have been made for storytelling.

‘They entered the cave together. It was dark and cold and uninviting. Neither animal feared the harshness of the task, but the tiger sorely missed the wide blue skies and the forests where he roamed so freely. The bear, well used to long winters of sleep, settled down on the ground, ready to rest, ready to preserve his energy. The tiger lay awake, the dim vision of the cave's entrance far away along a dark tunnel. Days passed and the bear slept. Yet the tiger reasoned that the world and its wonders were more important than the mystery of being a man. He was a tiger, noble and certain of his place in the world, and that was enough. He left behind the food for the bear and made his way along the tunnel and disappeared into the misty morning of the forest.'

As Deni translates I can see the children are enjoying the story, imagining themselves in the dark, dank cave. Smelling the air, tasting the mossy ground.

‘So the hundred days passed and the bear succeeded in his quest. The gods transformed him into a beautiful woman who later bore a son Tan'gun. Hwanung, the son of the god of creation, was merciful upon the tiger and recognised the strength and valour of his decision. So the tiger was allowed by the gods to remain on earth as a guardian and protector: just as he is to this day. Just as he is to me.'

When Deni finishes telling the last part of the story, one small boy puts his hand up.

‘Ah, we have a question,' says Deni kindly.

The boy speaks rapidly, excitedly. When he finishes, almost breathless, Deni translates his words for me.

‘This young boy thanks you for your story. He says you are one of us because you too have an animal to guide you. But he says there are no tigers in his homeland and he has never seen a tiger. He wants to know what they look like.'

‘Ah,' I say. ‘They are like lions. Strong and majestic. They do not have a mane, but they have stripes. And like lions they wander the land. They are the lords of their domain. As with the lion, men revere them, but men fear them also. Just as the white lion guides you, my tiger guides and protects me.'

Another hand goes up. A young girl sitting at the back. She speaks gently, as her friends titter at her boldness.

‘She asks, what is the colour of the tiger?' says Deni.

I smile to myself, look up to the night sky and the stars that glitter and shake.

‘Blue. My tiger will always be blue.'