He chuckles and reply with a kinky tone, “Oh, you have no idea.”
* * *
I’ve lost track of time for a bit. I don’t know for how long I’ve been steering. I can’t wait to put my watch back on. The Frenchie snores like a freight train. I’m barbecuing myself under the Middle Eastern sun, and these dark clothes aren’t helping either. I’m soaked in my own sweat, and just as the sleeping beauty predicted, I stink.
A partially clouded sky gives me some room to breathe from time to time, and the surrounding sand-colored mountains give me something to look at in the absence of other boats or seagulls.
The Red Sea is an emblematic place, historical with certain mystique to it. I saw some movies about it when I was a kid in school. One of them pictured a man with a mission – a mission he’d carried on against great odds. This man was tasked with freeing the Jewish people from the evil grasp of Ramses II. Once he fled captivity, along with his Jewish companions and with the Egyptian army on his tail, he raised his staff and the waters parted so they could cross, heroically saving everyone. Many come to know this guy as Moses. Now here I am, parting the waters myself with this ship, a woman, playing the heroine in a story that never ends. My mission is a little less crowded. I’m not on my way to save a small community being oppressed, but the man who changed me from the inside out.
The comparison, whilst bold and exaggerated, makes me feel selfish, and maybe I am, but there’s one more thing that’s undeniable, Bruno is my priority.
What is he doing? Will I be able to find him or will I die trying? I’ve rehearsed what I want to say when andifI find him, but I already know I won’t remember it, because he has that effect on me, he makes me forget everything.
As I continue to scan the horizon, I notice a dot in the distance. It could be a buoy, though it would have to be massive buoy for me to see it from this distance. Is it a boat maybe? I turn around to check on the Frenchman. He is still sleeping. I turn my gaze again to the object, but I still can’t discern what it is.
As we move forward, the dot becomes bigger and bigger. Finally, I can see its shape.
It is a ship, and I can even see some movement on its deck.
“Rage?” I whisper.
“Yes, kiddo?” he promptly replies.
He is always there for me. The wind is whistling on the other end. Maybe he’s riding.
“I can see a boat moving in our direction. Any chance they are tourists? Should I wake the Frenchie?”
“Definitely. Wake him up.” He’s giving me short answers. Where is he?
His bike engine is accelerating. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. No need to worry about me. Wake The Bedouin, keep me posted.”
“Roger.”
I turn my head and yell, “Bedouin! Bedouin! Wake up! We got company!”
He jumps up as soon as I end that sentence and comes to me. He’s squinting, trying to focus on the ship. His face is all wrinkled because of it. Just like me, he can’t see a whole lot.
“I can’t see shit,” he says then grabs one of the bags. After rummaging through it, he pulls out a pair of binoculars then whispers, “Merde.”
“That bad? Do we have any weapons onboard?” I ask, uneasy.
“You know how to shoot?”
“I’ve had some training.” I show my tags to him. He says nothing – he’s stunned, but in a good way.
That’s all I needed to see. I love to leave them speechless.
“Snap out of it, Frenchie! We only have a few seconds to get ready.” I snap my fingers in front of his face. I’m sure he has more questions now, but there is no time for answers.
“Right!” He promptly drags some bags near me.
I see weapons inside the first one. I pull out an AK-47 with a folded stock and a sling.
“You got some extra mags for this?”
“Yes, in the other bag, American Girl. We got enough ammo to shoot for a few hours.”
