Vernon Mooers writes

THE WHITE MAN'S GRAVEYARD

chapter 18 (2)

They zigzagged through the crowded streets toward the dock. They got out on the pier beside a crowd waiting for the ferry. Elizabeth was shocked. At least two hundred people were pushing or milling around by the fence. There were bundles and traders and vendors among the mob. They would be jostled getting on.

He started to pay the driver. "First Class," the taxi driver pointed down the fence to a gate where a guard stood.

He turned to Elizabeth. "We're in luck. They have a First Class gate. We can probably go right through to our cabin."  He led them through to the gate. The guard glanced at the tickets and let them pass. They walked up a ramp and onto the deck of the steamer.

There were no officials in sight. "I guess we just find a cabin." He led them toward the interior.

"You're looking for a cabin?" a steward smiled.

"Yes, we have First Class."

"May I see your tickets then?" The man took the tickets. "Come, follow me." He led them down to a lower deck and opened the sliding door of a cabin and smiled. "Should you need something, just look for me down the corridor." Paul handed him a pound note.

"I think we'll be fine. Thank you."

The steward closed the door of the cabin. There were two bunks and two that folded down above them and a small table. There was a curtain slid over the cabin doors and a small window to look outside. Alex could see that the waiting crowd of passengers had swelled. He checked the lock on the slider. It was broken but a piece of wire or cloth would hold it to. They would have to be careful at night. By the looks of things though, only First Class passengers would be allowed below deck. They should be safe.

Elizabeth did not look too happy. The accommodation was spartan. "We can go on deck after we move. They say the scenery is quite breath-taking," he said.

They rested in the cabin while they loaded the boat. They could hear shouting and Alex saw them bring their loads on board.

They must be villagers travelling upstream, he surmised, bundles on top of heads as they fought to board. A man with a stick was trying to keep order and keep them in a line.

It was good they had gotten a cabin. He took a Minolta from the bag of clothes and put a wide-angle lens on. When things had settled, they would go out on deck, stay there until sunset. He could take pictures of them there, cruising down the Nile.

The boat finally got under way. He heard the engines start up, a long whistle, and then they lurched from the dock. He waited a half-hour longer as they manoeuvred out from the harbour. He watched the outlying villages of Luxor pass by the window. "We'd best go up top, get some fresh air.  We'll be on course now."

"Yes, the fumes down here are nauseating," Elizabeth answered. "Can you shove that window open and leave it while we're gone?"

He opened it. Elizabeth picked up Anna and they started up. The steward was there, guarding the passage to the compartments. Out on deck it was crowded. People had claimed almost every foot of space on deck. Some were laying down, already asleep. They made their way to the edge of the boat by the railing. They were steaming upriver past mud houses and fishing skiffs. He took photos, then gave the camera to Elizabeth while he held Anna, pointing out to her the crops and fields along the shore and the fishing nets. Elizabeth took pictures of the two of them. It was sunset. People were praying in front of their houses. The sun was an orange ball on the horizon.

There were things Alex liked about Africa. It hadn't been all bad. He had a job that wasn't too demanding really, except for being away. Others had done it and not had their marriages pulled apart. Why couldn't they? Maybe it had all come too fast. There was Anna all of a sudden. So many new things happening and he hadn't planned any of them. They'd just fallen into place and he'd been caught up in the experience with no time to think, no time to consider. But here was a family photo of them all together. In Africa. He would send pictures ho his mother this time. Send them far away. He had never been back  home. They would have an image showing him happy, with his family in exotic places on the other side of the world.

He and Elizabeth and Anna had not really had a chance to grow, to merge as a family. Things were pulling them in different directions, and they constantly struggled to hold on. But he was enjoying this. Hoping they would enjoy it also. The photos would capture it, preserve this moments as they stood on the deck, white water swells projecting slowly back from the bow of the ferry. He felt as if he was in a movie. On the bank, the scenery of irrigated crops, the people crowded in mud-hut and adobe houses of villages, sucking life from the water of the river. The sun, three-quarters of an orange ball on a now dimming hazier horizon.

Then the explosion occurred. It rocked the boat. Fire immediately licked up the sides of the smokestacks and around the base of them where the fuel lines were. The breeze from the movement of the boat now fanned the flames there. People started to shout and push to get clear as the fire spread.

The hoard swayed this way and that, pushing and shoving to escape the heat. They squeezed like jelly to the back of the ferry. Women and children were crushed in the mob hysteria. The high shrill screams of the women, like war cries, were lost amid the fight. The men, as always, vying for position as they did to board buses and trains, shoving women or children out of the way to get their place. That had always been the rule. It was chaotic, animal behaviour at its bare uncivilized level. The mob knew no order, only chaos. The western rule of women and children first was an alien idea. Women were second-class, walking behind the men and the men had no regard for anyone save themselves. The women and children were trampled, crushed under the wild hoard. There was nothing human about it, nothing to distinguish the mob from a board of beetles or wild dogs.

The fire licked up the dried wooden beams and smoke billowed from the ferry. Now those on the edge of the crowd had fallen off into the water -- pushed by the panicked mob. It was a mass of turbaned men, veiled women and colourful cloth, jammed together, clutching babies, plastic water containers or sacks of food. They didn't let go of their belongings. Now the ship was engulfed in flames. The screams of those on fire rose like demons in hell. The boat was ablaze now like a burning barn, the animals trapped inside.

He had Anna in the sling in front of him, one arm wrapped around her to protect her, the other free to smash and manoeuvre, to grab his wife as he shouted at her. Elizabeth would never follow orders. That was the problem with her. She worried, had second thoughts. She had to question everything. Now he had to fight. He pulled her by her dress with his right arm which was strong. She was giving in. He had control now. He knew what to do. He was conditioned to act quickly, efficiently and with authority. There were automatic responses. He didn't think about it. In a crisis, reflexes took over.

He pushed Elizabeth overboard and in another motion had Anna out of her pouch. When they hit the water he had her sheltered and gripped to his chest. His other arm was free. The fire was so intense it lit the night and water easily. Elizabeth had floundered once. She was going under for the second time, panicking of course. The thermos jug was beside her. He held Anna up and let her spit and cough water. Her body would tell her when to breathe. He threaded water, grabbed Elizabeth's dress and pulled her thrashing to the surface, yelling at her. She was drowning, panicking he knew. She clutched at him, frantically trying to get up to the air. He went under pinching Anna's nose and came up holding her high above the water. Elizabeth was still up when he smashed her jaw with his right fist. She stopped struggling then and he had a hold of her dress and then put his arm around her chin to pull her, to keep her head out of the water. He was on his back now pumping with his legs, Anna held above him with his left arm and pulling Elizabeth's body which was floating now. He could scissor kick and tread but had to keep moving so she wouldn't sink and to keep her head out. He was kicking away from the ferry, just out, by instinct and adrenalin. It happened so fast he was just reacting, trying to save their lives and his own, drawing energy and strength to fight for survival as any animal or human can who's fighting for its life to the bitter end.

He was carrying them away, away from the danger, away from the burning boat, as far away as possible. He just kept moving, pulling and getting away from it by sheer stamina. He'd always been a strong swimmer and he held on, kept moving now, continually backward like a machine in motion. He'd done it before, just kept swimming endlessly, not thinking of the distance or the shore. He was at home in the water, his muscles moving automatically with the intensity of the hazard lessened now. Now he was swimming. He had the rhythm. It was as natural as running. He would not give up.

Now the boat was far away. His baby was above him and his wife was floating, being pulled along. He was carrying them to safety. That was all he knew. He just kept going.

They fished them out the next morning. He'd tied Elizabeth's arms over the log with the edges of her dress. Her shoulders and head were over the log. The baby lay on its back on top, his arm around it. That's how they had found them in the water downstream.