The answer to the mother’s question last night, full of resignation: Why haven’t we seen land yet?
Yes, he knows. He didn’t say so, of course. He also thought that with a bit of luck by the tenth day they would start finding islands. They’ve seen nothing, or virtually. Because the waters are still rising. There’s your answer: the sea has covered still more ground and the water level is ever higher. So, should they go home? The father has a lump in his throat. He has no idea what might be left of their hill. He presses his hands on his face not to think of the three little ones left behind, who might have drowned already. For days the word has been drifting through his mind, and comes back when he least expects it. Murderer. But he didn’t think of it all on his own: it’s the word he saw in Madie’s eyes when they set off with six children and left the other three on the island, eleven days ago—and it could have been a thousand days ago and it would have made no difference: since that dawn, he has become a murderer. The question remains: how many has he killed? One, two. Four. All of them. He’ll find out when he gets there.
The father snivels soundlessly. The baby’s silence is wrenching.
But then comes Liam’s weary voice.
“There’s an island over there.”
He sits up straight. For now it’s just a dot on the horizon, a dot on their route. Less than an hour off course, at a guess. So the father says, Let’s go.
“You think there’ll be food?”
“I hope so.”
“It looks big.”
“Yes, fairly big. We’re bound to find something.”
Madie looks, too. At first she doesn’t want to be glad, not to be disappointed. She curbs the unbearable little voice inside her that is already squeaking with joy, she can’t believe it, she’s sure the island will disappear, a mirage in their tired eyes, in their silent prayers. But the further they go, the bigger the mound becomes. After half an hour they can make out green shapes, bushes or little trees, expanses of grass, woods. And it’s true that all of a sudden the island looks like paradise. Madie exclaims, Oh my lord! Matteo, Emily, and Sidonie are clutching the gunwale, their eyes feasting on the approaching land. At the same time they keep an eye on the sky, where all the perils have come from, they don’t trust it, something worries them.
They’re wrong. It’s in the sea that the threat is looming, but none of them realizes it just then, absorbed as they are by the clouds, the absence of wind, the outline of the island. Matteo slaps his thighs, I knew it! Pata lets out a cry, turns to them, his smile radiant.
“We’re saved.”
Even the baby, awoken by their exclamations, waves her arms and chirps. Yes, says Madie, we’ll go there, we’ll find food. Her hands, white-knuckled, veins bulging, grab the rope around the boat as if to make it go faster, she wants to see, to feel, to be sure of the food they will find there, she’s already planning a meal in her mind, picturing them all in a circle around a fire, mouths watering from the aroma of something roasting—what can they roast, for goodness’ sake, tubers, forgotten vegetables, a careless bird, some fish at last?
Sidonie stretches her arms out to the island: Come! They laugh.
The island is only a few hundred yards away. From the bow Pata thinks he can make out spots of color on the bushes, maybe berries, or fruit, he prays in silence. Feverish agitation overcomes him, he misses the feel of earth beneath his feet, its motionless strength, its warmth. He smiles.
Then his smile fades.
The boat judders to a halt. It has hit something.
He looks at Liam, rowing on the other side, who frowns when he sees the father has stopped. What is it? Pata slowly immerses the oar in the water: there’s no silt, no resistance, he didn’t think there would be, to be honest, no reeds, no rushes to break through the surface here, it’s still too deep, it’s not land they’ve scraped against, no. All of a sudden, his terror poorly concealed, the blood drains from his face. Shivers along his skin, like the sudden onset of a raging fever: he knows what they have struck. Turns to Liam.
“Turn around.”
Act as if. Pretend. The boat moves a few feet.
“Something stuck on my side,” exclaims Liam.
“Try again.”
“I can’t, it’s stuck!”
“It’s not stuck. Row.”
“I tell you it is!”
Matteo is by his brother and now he leans over and dips his hand into the water to search around the edge of the hull. Pata screams: No! And then silence. He looks at Matteo, he looks at all six of them frozen by his cry, sitting straight and motionless, six pairs of eyes glued on him. He shakes his head, looks at Liam.
“Row backwards. We’ll move off to the right.”
The oars dip into the water, struggling to maneuver the little craft. Slowly, the boat heads again toward the island. Quick, breathes Pata. Eighty, a hundred yards. They pick up speed, breathless, look all around not knowing why, only the father, with his eyes scanning the space, his mouth suddenly open—when the wave forms.
“There. There!”
“What do we do?” cries Liam.
They watch the ripple in the water, fascinated by the roller that comes toward them and pushes them away from the shore. Initially they are not afraid, because the wave is round and gentle; until they realize. Everywhere else the sea is flat and smooth. Not a breath of air. No lapping of water. Madie’s worried expression: What is it? Pata doesn’t reply. To say what? To hear his voice trembling when he says, It’s the creature—no, he goes on rowing, in vain, because the huge invisible body blocks their way, under the water, never mind, he tries again, Liam follows suit. For a few moments they make headway again. Matteo encourages them.
“We’re nearly there!”
Yes, but.
Silently the wave forms again. Pushes them back more abruptly, as if annoyed; this time the boat rocks, the mother reaches for her little ones to make them sit on the floor. It’s the creature, isn’t it!
“What is it?” shouts Matteo.
Liam gives a start, holds out his arm.
“It’s the monster! It’s back!”
It never left, ruminates Pata, biting his lip, feeling the knots in his stomach as he stares at the ripples on the water; the creature is circling around them, shoving them.
“Why is it doing this?” cries Matteo.
To keep us from landing—but the father doesn’t say it out loud, too terrified to utter the words, it’s just that he’s sure, the beast has decided to attack before the water is too shallow for it to follow, before they hurry away, before the father stops being afraid. In a surge of desperation he strikes the water with the edge of his oar, immediately thinks that was a stupid thing to do, but too late, when you picture the size of the thing swimming beneath them, a blow for nothing, for an explosion of anger, a fraction of a second later the waters whirl apart to reveal a gigantic animal. Everyone on the boat screams, mother, father, children, instinctively recoiling, hands raised before them in a useless gesture. Do they see what Pata sees at that moment, the shining gray-black body emerging from the depths, its huge mouth open on razor-sharp teeth, and even more terrifying, its roar—do they hear its hoarse, mournful cry causing the surface of the water to tremble, creasing the air beneath its resonance, petrifying them all in the middle of the boat, tiny and panicked, the little girls crying, hiding their eyes. Liam and his father seize the oars, struggle against the current left by the beast. The shore is a few yards away, Pata could weep for it, he can almost reach out and touch it, jump out, ten breaststrokes beneath the water—and the monster’s jaw closing over him, he knows he wouldn’t have the time, or the speed.