The wind is blowing yet more strongly out on the sea. I clench the railing, debating whether or not to walk into the little house where the captain is sitting, but I do not dare to move. I feel so unwelcome, out of place. If I fall over the railing, I don’t even think they would bother to pull me back up, I don’t even think they would move, not an inch. That is how I feel, on this boat. The atmosphere feels sharper and chiller than the wind.
We move fast, or not we, I am not a part of this, they, with me, move fast through the water, cutting the waves, cut, cut, cut the water. I am frozen cold, the wind is everywhere, inside my clothes, inside me, in my head and chest, legs and arms, whirling, cold.
It doesn’t take that long, about twenty minutes, maybe thirty, until we reach our destination. We are in the middle of the bay when we see the boat, a little boat in the water, impossible to notice if you do not know it is there from before, if you do not look for it specifically. The coast guards see it first, an electric stirring goes through them, men after men, someone is shouting something, but I cannot hear what in the wind. Curious, I cross the deck to the other side to get a better view, but careful, as if not to fall, not wanting to make much notice of myself, hoping that if I am still enough they will forget that I am here.
My eyes scan the rolling waves that go up and down, up and down, it’s hard to tell what is what in the rolling water. Minutes pass, I become frustrated, and then, I see it, the boat, similar to the one from the Landing. Grey rubber, laying low in the water, drifting around and around by the waves, clearly they have no control, the engine is not working, they cannot go anywhere. We, they, with me, steer towards them. I have to keep my eyes fixed on the boat. If I blink, it becomes hard to find it again, as if it is about to cease to exist. I try to hold it still with my eyes.
As we come closer, I can hear children wailing, and adults, crying too. The sounds are bouncing over the water, finding its way to my ears, like when you throw flat stones on the surface of a pond, and it jumps over it.
Closer, closer, I can see their faces now, all of them are looking at the Rescue boat, some of them with smiles, relief in their faces; others with dread. We are next to it now, the little rubber boat, and the buzzing of the engine beneath my feet comes to a stop, and we are still except for the waves.
“Start the Rescue!” Someone shouts.
A few of the people in the boat stands up, awkwardly, because it is so full, reaching out their hands, waiting for something to grasp, a rope being lowered down, perhaps. I wait too. We wait together, time is standing still, and at the same time it is moving, and as the minutes tick by, the people in the little boat become more and more uneasy, I can feel it, everything is so silent here, at sea.
I wait for them to lower the rope, or something, a tiny boat, anything to transport these people on to the Rescue boat. Instead I hear this loud shrieking noise, metal against metal, it hurts my ears, cutting me up. It stops abruptly, as it had started, and now the silence is booming, pressing down on us like a bomb. Seconds pass. One, I count, two, I count, three.
Something in my peripheral vision catches my eye, and I look down at the side of the boat. Now I can see what that sound was. Along the sides of the rescue boat, small holes have appeared, openings, and out of them I can see canons, they are aiming at the little boat, lying so low in the water already.
If I expected anything at all when I saw this, it must have been fire, like in the movies, but instead, water starts pouring out of them, into the little boat, the power of the beams so strong it pushes some of the people overboard, into the water, and they disappear in all the blue.
The silence breaks again, with screams, humans screaming in death fright, crying children. I have frozen again, my eyes stiff and wide, fixed on that little boat, now filling up with water, water, water.
Then I run again, over the deck, running in through the door to the captain.
“Stop it, stop it!” I scream, but I am not sure if it’s only in my head, if anyone else can hear it.
I run over to the control panel, pressing buttons wildly, at random, until someone grabs me from behind, pinching my arms against my back, and I groan with pain, my feet almost lift off the ground by the force of it.
“Stop, stop, stop,” I scream, yell, maybe in my head, maybe out loud, as I am dragged back to my place by the railing.
The boat has sunk now, filled with water, people are floating in the water, desperate shadows among the waves, their numbers decreasing as I watch. Absurdly enough, I think back to when I was little and could not sleep, and I looked up at the ceiling, visualizing sheep, counting them.
Beneath my feet the buzzing comes back, the engine starts, and we are moving away, hands, human hands, sliding, grasping at the bottom sides of the boat, but their fingers find nothing.
I can hear the crying, until there is no more crying, everything is silent, we are moving away, until there is nothing left but ripples in the water.