The Lost Sailors (28 page)

“Are you O.K.?” Nedim asked Lalla.

“I'm fine,” she replied, smiling at him.

She moved a little closer to him. He stroked her shoulder then let his hand slide down her back.

His desire to take her in his arms was growing. He remembered how light she had been when they'd danced. How great it had felt to feel her body up against his. He dreamed of their naked bodies moving to a salsa rhythm, searching for each other, arousing each other, uniting. He felt a tingling between his legs. He wanted Lalla, dammit, she was all he wanted. Just her. Again and again. And to forget this fucking old tub.

“I'm just waiting for Diamantis to come back with Amina, and then we'll get out of here.”

“They'll come,” she said, softly. “We have time, don't we?”

“Well . . .”

She smiled again, and stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “Are you in such a hurry?”

Hope gave him a hard-on. No, he wasn't in a hurry, but since the three hookers he'd fucked during the first months . . . You soon got tired of jerking off, even with images of Aysel to help you.

At that moment Abdul turned to look at them, and didn't like what he saw. The girl must really be an airhead to be rubbing herself up against that loser Nedim. Lalla's and Abdul's eyes met. Lalla kissed Nedim on the cheek.

“A real slut,” Abdul thought. “She's only doing that to arouse me. To provoke me. That's it, she's using Nedim to provoke me. I'll get even with you, my girl.” He continued toward the bow of the ship.

“Are you coming?” he said, waving his lamp.

Nedim was so desperate with desire, he could happily have had Lalla right here on the deck. His cock was about to explode. Later, they could take their time. But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a real bed, with soft, clean sheets, to love Lalla in.

“Come,” she said softly. She put her hand on his buttocks, and pushed him. He heard her whisper in his ear, “Nedim . . .”

“What?”

“You really have a cute ass.”

She laughed. With the same cheerful, infectious laugh she'd had this afternoon at the beach. Lalla. He laughed, too. With happiness. And laughing like this relieved the tension of the desire that raged in their bodies.

“What are you two laughing about?” Abdul asked, lifting his lamp to see them.

“Nothing,” Nedim said, still laughing. “Nothing. It's Lalla, that's all.”

Lalla. Happiness.

Nedim had put off asking himself any questions. He was good at that, not thinking until the next day. Or even until after he made love with Lalla. He was imagining the lovely look in Lalla's eyes as she bent over him, whispering greedily, “Please, Nedim, one more time . . .” Her body straining toward him like a bow. “One more time, the last time . . .” The noises coming in from the street, through the open window. For once, those noises would have a meaning. The meaning of life. A possible life. His life, with Lalla.

Nedim couldn't see himself going back to Turkey now, going back to his village, Aysel, the poverty awaiting him for the rest of his days. That was all there was for him there. Stupid schemes. A few cents here, a few cents there. Aysel sniveling in the evening because they didn't have enough to bring up the kids. They'd probably have two, three, maybe even four kids, just like that, to fill the time, to avoid talking to each other, to chase away exhaustion, to ward off the anguish of time.

Aysel, his village, his mother, his pals: they all seemed so far away right now. There was only Lalla. But was there more of a future for him here than there was there? Shit, Nedim, don't think about that now. You've got time later. Right now, you have Lalla beside you, don't look for anything more!

He couldn't help seeing himself living in Marseilles. The place was swarming with Greeks and Armenians, he knew that. Well, what the hell, a Chinaman could make it here, so why not a Turk? Diamantis would be able to advise him. He seemed to know this city well, and to like it. He might even go to sea again. On a roll-on roll-off ferry, or a tramp steamer. No farther than the Mediterranean. As Diamantis had said.

“Yes, dammit, I've also found a personal reason to sail this sea. Love. Lalla's love. Yes, Diamantis will have to help me. To convince Amina that things have to change. Of course, at first, Lalla may have to carry on working with Amina. The Habana, the guys, all that stuff. But they mustn't tire her out.” Dammit, he loved the girl! She had to be protected . . .

 

Now they were all in the stern of the ship. Marseilles glimmered in the distance. Abdul raised his arm and pointed to the stars.

“Mars, Sirius, Venus . . .”

He forgot to name Cepheus.

“I like the stars,” Lalla said.

“Me, too. I've learned to read the sky. Almost no one knows how to do that anymore, not even sailors. We have radar for navigation, electric compasses, computers . . .”

Abdul had learned about the sky only because he thought it would make him look good, give him added luster and authority. A captain who could plot his position by the stars. It was only a token thing, really, but, as he liked to say, it kept the tradition of navigation alive. It was a way of distinguishing himself from the others, marking himself out as a true navigator.

Abdul's hand, which had been pointing up at the stars, now moved onto Lalla's back, and then slid down to her waist, where it came to rest. Lalla stiffened, and shifted slightly. Or tried to shift. Abdul increased the pressure to stop her from moving.

Lalla looked at Nedim. He had just lit a cigarette and was leaning on the ship's rail. Again lost in dreams of living in Marseilles. Yes, he really could see himself living here.

Lalla turned to Abdul. He smiled at her, and pressed slightly on her hips. His hand slid down again, over her round buttocks in the tight-fitting skirt. The whore wasn't even wearing panties, he noted.

“Let go of me!” she said.

Very loudly and firmly.

Nedim jumped. What the fuck was happening? He saw Abdul's hand on Lalla's ass. “Hey!”

Abdul hadn't taken his hand away.

“Let go of me!” Lalla said again, looking him right in the eyes.

“Let go of her!” Nedim cried.

“Don't piss me off, Nedim.”

Abdul put his arm tightly around Lalla's waist and drew her to him. He had his hand on her flat stomach. He could feel the muscles contract under his fingers.

Nedim took a step forward.

“I said, don't piss me off, Nedim. We're not going to fight over a whore.”

“She's not a whore!”

“I'll fuck her first and then you'll have your turn, O.K.?” He laughed. A coarse laugh. “She's just a whore, Nedim. Are you too stupid to understand that?”

Lalla was struggling, but Abdul didn't relax his vise-like grip.

“Let go of me!” She was begging him now.

“Shut up! You want it, you know you do. Tell this peasant here.”

“I'm going to smash your face in,” Nedim said.

Abdul laughed louder still. “No, Nedim, you won't do anything. I think I'll even fuck her in front of you.”

With surprising agility, he let go of Lalla's waist with his right hand, put his left hand around her neck, and squeezed.

“You see . . . If I squeeze a little harder . . .”

Lalla was choking.

“If you hurt her . . .”

“If I squeeze a little harder, she'll say yes. Isn't that right, Lalla? You want it, don't you?”

He squeezed. The veins on her neck were throbbing fit to burst.

Nedim looked around him, searching for something—a pipe, a piece of wood, a cable—to hit Abdul with. Physically, he knew he was no match for him. Abdul trained every morning on deck. Nedim had seen him. Limbering up, push-ups, abdominal exercises . . .

With his right hand, Abdul again fingered Lalla's ass. He had a hard-on as big as the one he'd had when Hélène had stared at him, on deck, in front of the other sailors. Then his fingers searched for the zipper of her skirt. She was still struggling. Fucking slut!

Lalla gathered all her strength, lifted her left elbow, and brought it down on Abdul's stomach. She felt as if she was hitting a rock. Nothing but muscle. It wasn't the blow as much as the surprise that made Abdul let go.

Lalla leaped forward and Nedim rushed at Abdul.

Lalla cried out, weakly. Now that she had freed herself from Abdul, she was paralyzed with fear.

“Nedim.”

She had to get off this boat. She had to go home and sleep. With Nedim beside her. His hands on her. Their legs intertwined. Why hadn't Amina come? And where was Diamantis? Fuck, he'd taken her car! She could run to the checkpoint, ask for help . . . But how to get out of here?

“Nedim!”

They had rolled over. Abdul had quickly gained the upper hand. Nedim could feel his hot, winey breath on his face. He tried to push him off, but couldn't. He was sweating. He couldn't do it. Abdul's forearm was on his throat.

“I'm going to smash your face in, you asshole!” Abdul panted.

“You're crazy . . .” Nedim stammered, breathless. “Stop . . . Stop . . .”

He saw himself on Yuksekkaldirim Street. He and his friends had gone there looking for hookers. To celebrate being sixteen. He had lost them in the dense, blind crowd. His stomach was churning with the desire to vomit. For ten pounds, he had fucked a woman with spindly legs, protruding ribs, and flabby tits. It had been horrible. He felt ashamed and disgusted. A young guy, a hoodlum from Tophane, had jumped him and tried to steal the little he had left. They had rolled on the ground, surrounded by the filthy, muddy shoes of the hundreds of guys who were trying to find the least ugly hookers on the street. No one had intervened to stop the fight. He had never been good at fighting. He didn't like it. It scared him.

But where the fuck was Diamantis? Maybe he was fucking the other girl, Amina. They were certainly taking their time. He and Lalla should have gone with Diamantis. Instead of staying here and listening to this jerk . . .

Now he was really choking.

“You leave her to me, dickhead, you got it?”

With his arms, Nedim tried again to push Abdul away. Fuck, he ought to do push-ups too, he ought to train. He was young, dammit, and this pathetic old asshole was beating him to a pulp. He tensed his muscles and pushed Abdul as hard as he could. It worked. Abdul rolled over on his side. Nedim leaped to his feet. But then Abdul was up, too. They faced each other, fists clenched.

Nedim ready to defend himself, Abdul ready to give him a hammering.

 

Diamantis woke the watchman again. He needed him to open the barrier.

“Hell, you've really got ants in your pants tonight.”

Diamantis didn't reply. He was all in. He had driven without thinking about anything. He hadn't thought about Amina being dead. Or about Ricardo, whom he'd killed. He felt neither grief nor remorse. He had killed a guy. He had killed a bastard. He had killed a shit. He'd kept repeating that to himself. As he drove. Mechanically. First, second. Red light, brake. Green light, put the car in gear again, set off. Drive. Keep to the speed limit. Don't get caught by the cops. Warning light. Turn right. Third. Turn left, onto Quai du Lazaret. The harbor. Straight on. He had killed a man. Dammit. He had killed a man. Gate 2. Gate 2A.

Gate 3A.

Lalla. He was thinking only about her now. Her and Nedim. And the insistent, indecent way Abdul had looked at her. Every minute of the meal had come back to him. And all the times Abdul had looked at Lalla's body. He shouldn't have left them there. Alone with Abdul. He shouldn't have left his daughter there.

Lalla.

He heard her scream. A piercing scream that froze his blood. “This night is never going to end,” he thought, as he ran up the gangway.

“Lalla! Lalla!”

Her scream had come from the deck. Stem or stern?

He heard it again. It wasn't a scream anymore. It was a heartrending sob. “Stern,” he told himself. He ran on, avoiding all the clutter on deck. Winch, cables, rigging. He kicked over a pot of paint.

Lalla was huddled in a corner, under the ship's rail. She was sobbing and letting out little cries. Abdul was standing in front of her, arms dangling. Between then, Nedim. His back to them. Nedim skewered on some fucking thing that Diamantis couldn't identify. All he could see was the end of this thing sticking out of his back. He went closer. The iron had gone through Nedim's thoracic cage, at the height of his heart, and come out between his shoulder blades.

His mouth was open. As if to say one last word.

“He's dead,” he heard Abdul say.

It was neither a question nor a statement. Dead. Period. Diamantis leaned over the ship's rail and threw up. An intense stream of vomit. He was spewing his guts out. And his thoughts at the same time. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I killed him.”

Diamantis went to Lalla and put his arm around her waist. She looked at him, distraught.

“Nedim . . .” she sobbed.

“Come on. Let's get out of here.”

He helped her up. She leaned on him.

“You, go to your cabin!” he ordered Abdul as best he could. “I'll be back.”

“I was right, you see. We ought to have cleaned the fucking deck.”

Diamantis didn't listen to him.

Abdul looked up at the sky. A few small clouds hid the stars. How to plot their position now? Cepheus had become invisible.

T
he watchman had been relieved, to be replaced by a younger colleague. Diamantis gave two soft hoots on his horn. The barrier opened. The watchman didn't come out and didn't see Lalla lying in the back seat.

Diamantis drove around the checkpoint and parked where he couldn't be seen, behind a warehouse.

“Wait here,” he said to Lalla, and got out of the car.