“What?” I ask groggily. A scream pierces the air, and it wakes me from my stupor.
Kenan grips my shoulder tightly, and in a measured voice I don’t recognize, he says, “Salama, the weather is bad.”
He suppresses a shiver, and I crane my neck to study the sea. Aided by the wind, the waves are throwing themselves hard against the boat, rocking it and my heart as well.
“There’s a lot of people. The boat isn’t new. It can’t handle all of us. We don’t have time,” he says calmly, but the terror is more than visible in his words.
I don’t understand. This boat has made the trip countless times. Am promised!
Kenan pulls me back. The bruise under his eye looks ink black.
“When the boat goes down, you have to stay as close to me as you can, do you understand?” he says firmly.
Lama is crying, and she isn’t the only one. The screaming, pleading, and praying are deafening—I wonder whether the sounds have reached land.
“How far are we from Italy?” I ask.
“The captain is trying to signal them right now,” Kenan says. “Even if they come, it’ll be hours. We’ll already be in the water.”
I press my hand against his forehead. Warm.
“The water’s freezing. You’re exhausted and maybe even feverish. If you go in, I don’t know what it’ll do to your system.”He’ll get hypothermia. My heart beats painfully against my chest.
He shakes his head. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Life rafts?”
“Salama, this is a fishing boat. It isn’t meant to survive more than a few hours offshore.There are no life rafts.”
I must be showing signs of distress because Kenan cups my cheek with one hand and draws me closer to him.
“Have faith,” he whispers. “We’ll make it. Stay close to me andhave faith.”
I nod, squeezing a few tears out. He straightens up and eyes his siblings, who are so petrified they can’t move.
“All right, you guys,” he says, and I’m astounded at how calm he is. “I need you to stick together, and once we’re in the water, kick your legs just a little to stay up, okay? Your life jackets will do the rest. It’s important you don’t panic. Take deep breaths, and insh’Allah we’ll be fine.”
Lama clings to Yusuf and they both nod. I strap my backpack inside my life jacket and my heart sinks—I know that when we go underwater my passport and certificate won’t survive. The sky looks near, as if promising to drown us in its dark gray as well.
Most of the people are already standing, so Kenan tells us to do the same. The boat tilts dangerously to the left, and we lose our footing, stumbling to the floor. People scream. One mother is in hysterics, holding her baby to her chest, and I look away. I can’t help anyone. My head sways with each motion the boat takes, and the water drenches us whole as the threat of tipping over increases. I grip Kenan’s hand, and Lama and Yusuf crowd against him as the boat lurches and other people push against us.
We wait, not knowing what to do.Should we jump? Or stay on the boat until it goes down? Think, Salama, think!
Suddenly one voice, cutting like glass, rings in my head, warning me not to jump.
Don’t do it, Khawf’s voice resounds in my mind. It’s suicidal. You don’t know what’s waiting for you in the water. The boat is safer. The more people jump, the more likely it won’t sink. Don’t jump.
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, visualizing my daisies. Khawf isn’there, but he lives in my head, always making me second-guesseverydecision. But that’s no way to survive—no way to live.
“Kenan,” I say. Tears begin streaming down my face.The end is near.“We need to jump. When the boat goes down, it’ll create a current we won’t be able to swim against.”
He looks at me and nods solemnly. The waves lapping at the sides of the boat promise violence. Perhaps a bomb would have been the better choice.
Suddenly, one man carrying his daughter jumps out of the boat and into the water. She clings to his back, sobbing, and he’s using all of his energy to get away. It takes everyone exactly five seconds to follow suit.
Kenan grasps my hand tightly. We both nod.
“Now,” he says.
