Read Online The Tears of Dark Water by Corban Addison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Corban Addison
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and its sleeping bodies with a ghostly light. Ismail and Liban talked until they grew tired of their own voices. Then they lapsed into silence and listened to the steady drone of the engine as it converted petrol into miles.
Just before midnight, the skiff glided across a patch of bioluminescence. For minutes, the sea sparked and glowed a mesmerizing green. Ismail let off the throttle and dipped his hand in the brilliant water. Liban watched him carefully—his superstition plain—until he saw that Ismail’s hand was still whole. Then he joined Ismail on the transom and stirred the phosphorescent water with his toes.
“This is amazing,” Liban said in wonderment.
“It’s beautiful,” Ismail replied.
After a while, they set off again. Ismail turned on the GPS unit and fixed their position. Then he found the constellation Cassiopeia and aimed the skiff just west of the brightest star. A verse came to him from the Quran: He makes the stars as lights for you, that you may guide yourselves through the dark spaces of land and sea. He took some comfort in the words, but not much. His throat was parched and he felt the ache of exhaustion in every muscle. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and dream of Yasmin and the day he would take her back from the hands that stole her.
He grabbed the water jug and touched it to his lips. The feeling of refreshment was exquisite but fleeting, and it wasn’t long before he began to drift. He blinked his eyes and looked at Liban, hoping to start another conversation, but his friend had fallen asleep.
To keep himself awake, Ismail began to work mathematics equations in his head—first multiplication, then division. His exertions only delayed the inevitable. Weariness encircled him and laid its siege, waiting until at last his eyelids fell and his internal defenses crumbled before overtaking him and drawing him into sleep.
It was a while before he woke again. He was on the bench beside Liban, his head resting on a piece of tarpaulin. The motor was off and the skiff adrift, its bow pointed north. He didn’t recall pushing the kill switch or lying down, but he must have done it. He stood up and took a deep breath to clear away the cobwebs in his mind. His companions were still slumbering—most were curled up on the bottom of the boat. The moon was well past its zenith, the air cooler and still clear.
Ismail powered on the GPS unit. The clock on the display informed him that it was just after 01:20, local time. He fixed their position and found that the current had driven them two and a half miles to the west and two tenths of a mile closer to Mahé. His back was sore and his mouth sticky with thirst. He took a swig from the water jug. Then he picked up the binoculars and swept the horizon. The GPS unit, which he’d bought secondhand in Galkayo, offered almost no detail about the ocean. There could be shoals or even an island nearby, and the display wouldn’t show it.
It took his brain a moment to register the anomaly. The sea to the west was a patchwork of reflected moonlight. There were dark lines between the glistening waves, but there was something else—a void of some kind. He examined it carefully and saw it resolve into a shape. His heartbeat quickened. The shape was actually a silhouette with a pole on top. Is that a sailboat? he wondered. But where are the sails? His thoughts went into overdrive when he saw the boom extending from the base of the mast. They’re under power and running without lights . They’re trying not to be seen.
He watched the sailboat motor across the silver sea. It was a small craft with a single mast—not a valuable prize, but a prize nonetheless. In the midst of his elation, he felt a pang of shame. He knew that what he was about to do was haram , forbidden by God. He remembered the lessons his father had taught him about divine justice and the wronging of the soul. Allah was merciful, but men by their evil acts delivered themselves to
Just before midnight, the skiff glided across a patch of bioluminescence. For minutes, the sea sparked and glowed a mesmerizing green. Ismail let off the throttle and dipped his hand in the brilliant water. Liban watched him carefully—his superstition plain—until he saw that Ismail’s hand was still whole. Then he joined Ismail on the transom and stirred the phosphorescent water with his toes.
“This is amazing,” Liban said in wonderment.
“It’s beautiful,” Ismail replied.
After a while, they set off again. Ismail turned on the GPS unit and fixed their position. Then he found the constellation Cassiopeia and aimed the skiff just west of the brightest star. A verse came to him from the Quran: He makes the stars as lights for you, that you may guide yourselves through the dark spaces of land and sea. He took some comfort in the words, but not much. His throat was parched and he felt the ache of exhaustion in every muscle. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and dream of Yasmin and the day he would take her back from the hands that stole her.
He grabbed the water jug and touched it to his lips. The feeling of refreshment was exquisite but fleeting, and it wasn’t long before he began to drift. He blinked his eyes and looked at Liban, hoping to start another conversation, but his friend had fallen asleep.
To keep himself awake, Ismail began to work mathematics equations in his head—first multiplication, then division. His exertions only delayed the inevitable. Weariness encircled him and laid its siege, waiting until at last his eyelids fell and his internal defenses crumbled before overtaking him and drawing him into sleep.
It was a while before he woke again. He was on the bench beside Liban, his head resting on a piece of tarpaulin. The motor was off and the skiff adrift, its bow pointed north. He didn’t recall pushing the kill switch or lying down, but he must have done it. He stood up and took a deep breath to clear away the cobwebs in his mind. His companions were still slumbering—most were curled up on the bottom of the boat. The moon was well past its zenith, the air cooler and still clear.
Ismail powered on the GPS unit. The clock on the display informed him that it was just after 01:20, local time. He fixed their position and found that the current had driven them two and a half miles to the west and two tenths of a mile closer to Mahé. His back was sore and his mouth sticky with thirst. He took a swig from the water jug. Then he picked up the binoculars and swept the horizon. The GPS unit, which he’d bought secondhand in Galkayo, offered almost no detail about the ocean. There could be shoals or even an island nearby, and the display wouldn’t show it.
It took his brain a moment to register the anomaly. The sea to the west was a patchwork of reflected moonlight. There were dark lines between the glistening waves, but there was something else—a void of some kind. He examined it carefully and saw it resolve into a shape. His heartbeat quickened. The shape was actually a silhouette with a pole on top. Is that a sailboat? he wondered. But where are the sails? His thoughts went into overdrive when he saw the boom extending from the base of the mast. They’re under power and running without lights . They’re trying not to be seen.
He watched the sailboat motor across the silver sea. It was a small craft with a single mast—not a valuable prize, but a prize nonetheless. In the midst of his elation, he felt a pang of shame. He knew that what he was about to do was haram , forbidden by God. He remembered the lessons his father had taught him about divine justice and the wronging of the soul. Allah was merciful, but men by their evil acts delivered themselves to
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