When I realise they’re gone, my thoughts switch to their ultimate safety, and the hope everything will go exactly like Uncle Koraubara says. He says they have to leave early; they’ll take things easy and arrive home before dark. Uncle knows the weather and waves aren’t favourable, but he believes they’ll make their destination before nightfall. I dwell on that fact and nothing else.
At midday, Tiene sends a message by CB radio that our transport from Tarawa can’t travel owing to bad weather; that it isn’t safe, and that we must wait until the next day before leaving. They don’t want to cause the Aussies to suffer through the rough seas; it’ll also be too risky. The owner of the CB radio informs Tiene that Ben and the others left that morning. Because Maiana is so small, everyone knows what’s happening, news travels fast. Tiene can’t believe what she’s hearing, and she begs with the fishermen to leave for Maiana immediately, to intercept Ben, and then bring us back. Tiene’s idea is that the fishermen will spot Ben’s aluminium tinnie, and tow them back. If not, we might possibly sight them on our way back from Maiana. Tiene believes the tinnie will never make it in the rough seas.
Liam and Hannah arrive with the news we have to pack right now, that our transport is on the way. We hire a truck that will take us to the end of the island, so we can board before the tide goes out. Otherwise, we’ll have walk out on sharp coral to get on board. There’s no time to spare. Everyone from that moment on is in panic mode. We hurry to make our goodbyes.
Hannah explains this has to happen if the fishermen are to spot the tinnie Ben and his friends are in. We do as we’re ordered, and arrive to see the boat waiting in the lagoon. We board at about 3.30pm, and head for Tarawa. The sea soaks every one on board, as the boat smashes through the oncoming waves; there’s a continuous wall of spray from both sides, as well as in front. Approaching the open sea, passing the tip of the island, we realise the fun is at an end. The waves rise so steeply they come crashing down into the boat. We have no idea of how perilous the journey is that lies before us. For most of the time we remain silent, like a crew of half-drowned rats. I’m silent because I don’t want to frighten my Aussie friends too much.
The skilled fisherman at the tiller orders us to move to the centre and rear of the boat, and we follow his orders without question. We tumble about like so many corks as the boat crashes into the giant swell. Waves continue breaking on board, drenching everyone. The journey lasts for hours, when it usually takes an hour and forty-five minutes. Someone shouts on seeing a shark swimming nearby, but all we do is stare at each other. We all remain silent, as if expecting some disaster to strike. I’m scared because of the violent roll of the boat, unsure of what might happen. I ask myself: is this the end, are we about to capsize, die drowning, or just get lost? My eyes are fixed on the motorman at the controls. His helper looks the picture of calm, and concentrates on clearing the window of rain and salt spray. Another fisherman sits calmly on the narrow rail of the boat, gazing ahead into a blurry horizon.
I must place my trust in these experienced fishermen. Our journey has lasted for five hours, and the sky is darkening. The whole trip has been unbelievably dangerous. Tiiba, who’s superstitious to a fault, looks at me and snaps, “The spirits are angry because one of your friends mentioned going by plane. He insults the spirits, and now look what’s happening. You never do things like that. If a trip has to be done by boat, you just do it and stick to it!” I pay her no attention. I just pray to God that we can arrive safely, that I can meet my son who left so many hours before.
At seven o’clock in the evening we enter into the calm of the Tarawa Causeway. My troubled nerves have calmed, since we know we’re out of danger. A truck waits for us, and I see Tiene walking along the causeway to meet us. I can’t wait but ask in a way she can read my lips, “Have Ben and the others arrived?” She gives the appearance of looking for someone else on our boat. I smile at her and try once more, still without words, using lip language, “Has Ben arrived?” Angrily she replies, “No!”
“Are you sure they haven’t arrived?”
“I’ve been here since midday, watching for them. How could you let him go in that stupid tinnie, when I asked you not to? You knew it wasn’t safe!”
Tiene repeats everything she protested about before we left.
“Are you satisfied now, that you spent so little on your transport? Will it pay for your son’s life? What a stupid mother you are. You’re the one who deserves to be lost, not Ben.”
She considers me with a clear hatred. I feel pierced, hurt in my whole body. What Tiene says is true, I accept her accusations, and that’s when I feel deeply hurt, both mentally and physically. Something heavy creeps over me, so that I can hardly raise myself from the boat to walk along the causeway. I look behind, hoping to see a boat or hear an engine, but there’s only the darkness. I pray to God, “Please guide my son, bring him home safely, I beg you.” Fear and confusion troubles me, my heart begins racing, and words catch in my throat, so I can hardly swallow. My body doesn’t feel right. I feel like crying out, and I have to fight to control an overwhelming sense of despair. What can I do? Question after question enters my head, “Is that why Ben laid his head on my arm, as a final farewell? What about the shark we saw, the huge waves? Is Ben all right? Is their boat still coming, or has it capsized?” I don’t have a single answer. Who can help, who can assist me now? My son is gone, my only son! Why is this happening to me? The questions mount in my head. My Aussie friends try to cheer me.
“It’s all right Taoati, they’ll come back safely. They’re trying to get home. They’ll come later. It’s all right. Let’s go home and change into some dry clothes.”
I tell them to go on ahead, that I’m staying to wait for Ben. They refuse to leave, so we wait patiently, but there’s no sign. I begin crying, but realise crying won’t help. I go with my Aussie friends, drop them off, and then make my way back to the causeway. I feel deep down Ben’s alive, lost in the tinnie and drifting.
Irene waits with me. We wait for an hour, but there’s nothing, no sound of an engine, or the sound of Ben’s voice. The waiting is painful, the night dark, with a strong wind and light rain. My wish is to stay here and stare at the ocean, in case I miss Ben’s tinnie. I’m rooted to the causeway. I see flickering lights and hear voices but realise they’re fishermen on foot, with hurricane lamps, looking for octopus, eels and other small fish for their family.
Hannah and Irene’s comforting words are of no use. I don’t care about my wet clothes. For me it’s better that I should suffer, like Ben. My ears have gone deaf. There’s nothing I want to take in. My mind is fixed one hundred per cent on my son. How can I forgive myself for letting him return in an unsafe tinnie? For the first time I consider seriously the subject of the tinnie, whereas before everything had been perfectly all right. I picture my son scared to death, lost and drifting into nowhere. I can’t believe this is happening, and I cry again, beg God, “Please, You’re the most powerful; you can calm the ocean, the wind and the waves. Look after my son.”
Two conflicting voices are fighting in my head. One is encouraging me to be brave and carry out ways to find my son, while the other is purely for torture, reminding me of Ben resting his head on my arm in a final gesture of goodbye, his garland on my head, the sharks, the unsafe, small tinnie, and them capsizing in the water. I force myself to listen to the first voice, ignoring the second. I’m angry and sad and blame myself for my son’s disappearance. He’s my only son. The son I wanted, my only life. Why have I been so foolish? With tears and the heaviest heart, I know I must hope for the best. I don’t want to leave the causeway. I want to sleep here, wake up to my son’s voice, and hear his laughter.