The next day, Arien calls again in the morning. He asks us to meet him at the headquarters, and then to come with him to the port, where he has to talk with one of the coast guards about some issue.
“Today is your last day. Are you excited to go home?” he says.
Am I?
“Not really. It feels so unreal to go home.”
Whenever I try to picture home, my apartment, I can see it, but it looks fake, somehow, more like a scene in a theater or studio, looking real, but if you touched the walls they would fall down, the room would go to pieces.
“I understand. If it helps, most people feel like that, after being here.”
I do not answer. It doesn’t help, not really.
“It gets better,” he says.
“Yes.” Maybe.
“I’ll see you in half an hour then.”
We hang up.
I force myself to eat, knowing that I have to, but my appetite is lost. I mostly sit just listening to silence, even the birds are silent today, the sky covered in thick, grey clouds, absorbing every sound, the air is much more chill than the days before, and I shiver as I eat.
I slowly put on boots, jacket, gloves. I even make up my bed, something I rarely do. It takes a lot of energy to try so hard not to think.
Driving to the headquarters, I pass the ocean, and it seems to be roaring today, more powerful, trembling, than before, the shade a dark blue. Back home, the ocean is usually grey, especially on overcast days like this, but here, it is always blue, light, dark blue.
I know the way to the headquarters now, without getting lost. Outside the house, the other workers are standing, gathered in a small circle. Everyone looks very excited. I wonder what has happened.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning.”
Mary gives me a hug, smiling broadly.
“I hear today is your last day?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“I hope you’ve had a nice stay here, you know, despite it all.”
“Thank you. How much time do you have left?”
“Five more days. They don’t let you stay for too long, then you will have gotten so used to it all by the time you get home. I think I’ll actually miss this, some of it, you know what I mean?”
“I do.” I really do. It’s something very absorbing by living like this.
“It’s so different from the rest of The West.”
“It really is.”
“But in a good way too.”
“Yes, in a good way too.”
“But, why is everyone so excited? Is it just because I’m leaving tomorrow?” I ask. She laughs.
“No, there came a transport boat this morning, with a lot of clothes that we can hand out.”
“Really? That’s amazing.”
“Yes! But there’s been some problems with the toll, so we’ll have to go down to the port with Arien and fix it.”
“OK.” I feel suddenly tired again. Things are never easy here, they never work out as you would have thought.
We drive to the port, me in my little blue bubble, the others in the van in front of me. Not that it is hard to find the port; it’s in the heart of town, where all the main roads gather, like the middle of a spider web. It is shaped like a square, missing one side that is open towards the ocean. Along two of the three sides, normal fishing boats are docked, boats made of tree, looking more like ships than modern boats, and then along the third side the military boats are dipping in the water, all of them metal, grey, like sharks. I see now how that part of the port is surrounded by a fence with wire on the top, remembering too clearly my almost failed mission to go there and take a photo. I wonder what would have happened if it were not for Hasin.
We park in the roadside by the fence. Arien leads us in through an opening, and I notice that he walks a little tenser here, like he feels unsafe, like he does not want to be here. And that tension is infectious, it spreads among us, I can see the worry in the other’s eyes too. We walk over a big parking lot, without any cars, following him across the lot and to the edge of the port, near the water, where a big container stands, big as a house. It has been opened, and inside we can see plastic bags, hundreds of them, all of them filled with clothes, clothes, clothes.
We cheer, we cannot help it, all of us can picture ourselves going to The Camps with all of these clothes, handing them out, we can picture the spark of happiness in the eyes of the people there, when they finally take off their dirty sandals and put on some real shoes. I almost wish I could stay longer, just for that, to give this out. That is the strangest of everything, wanting to leave this place and all its terrors, and at the same time not wanting to go home, like I have nowhere to go anymore.
“This is really, really great!” says Arien. “I will go inside and talk to them about it, so hopefully we can take some of it to the warehouse today already. You guys just wait here.”
He walks over to a big, black stone house in the middle of the lot. I assume it’s the headquarters for the coast guards. From high poles the flag of The West is swaying in the wind, white, blue and grey.
While we wait a bunch of soldiers come out of the building, their laughter booming over at us. Everyone is wearing dark grey uniforms and tiny hats, berets I think they are called, on their heads. Even from this distance I can see the excitement on their faces, like it’s someone’s birthday. They jump inside one of the Rescue boats, a grey boat like the others, except for the red medical cross on its sides, docked at the edge of the port, not far from where we are standing. Right then, one of them looks up and meets my gaze, and I recognize his face, it is the same guy who took me by the arm the last time I was here, when I took that photograph, I am sure of it.
He stops when he sees me, slowly, stopping, and then he actually smiles at me, meeting my eyes, and it is a wicked smile. He holds my stare, as if trying to come to a decision, make up his mind, and then he starts walking again, towards me. What does he want? I want to turn around again and run, go backwards, back away from him, but I do not. He comes to a stop a few feet away from me, pointing, at me, curling his finger towards himself, telling me to come over. If there is a choice here, I cannot figure out any other options, so I do it, I walk over, my heart thumping, fluttering, caged inside my ribs.
“Photograph girl. Do you want to join us for a Rescue?” he says.
I look at him, surprised.
“A Rescue?”
“Yes. There is a boat about to cross that seems to have some motor troubles. We will head out there now and Rescue it. Join us. It is always so fun to bring a newcomer.”
His voice is kind, and he still smiles, but that smile, that wicked smile, is still there, on his face, and I cannot shake away how cold his eyes are, a dark grey color, matching his uniform.
I can feel the other workers staring at my back, curious, probably wondering what we are talking about.
“I think I’ll have to stay here and help with the container,” I say.
“The other workers will do that,” he says, nodding towards them. “I am sure we can use an extra hand today, and you are here to help, to work for us, aren’t you? You will be more useful in the Rescue.”
I shake my head hesitantly, in vain.
“I’ll have to ask Arien, he’s my supervisor.”
“He has no power here. You come with us.”
Then he turns around and walk back to the Rescue boat, where the other guards are waiting, inpatient. I stand still, for a few seconds, my mind whirling, trying to find out what to do, but what he said was no question, it was an order, a command, so what choice do I have? I follow him. After all, it is a Rescue. Maybe it will be nice, a good way to spend my last day here, helping someone.
One of the guards help me on board, halfway lifting me, like a doll, and I can smell him, he smells sour, of sweat. I position myself by the railing, holding it, not sure what to do, or where to stand, or if I should say something. The other guards are looking at me, smiling, chuckling among themselves, like there is some internal joke that I am not part of.
I stand like that, the cold metal against my curled fingers, and the boat begins to move, a buzz beneath my feet, and there is no way back now. I look at the port, at the others, and I see Arien coming out from the house. He walks back to the container, stops, probably talking with the other workers, and I watch him, anxiously, like a child who has broken some rule and is just waiting for their parents to find out.
The boat is moving fast now, gliding forwards, and I can hardly see his features anymore when he turns around and looks at the boat. Still, I think I see him shaking his head at me, frantically.
Then he’s gone, and we head for the wide-open sea.