Twenty-Eight
A few days later, another boatload of refugees was rescued in the Mediterranean. I watched it on TV. They huddled together, damp and fearful, their worn out clothing hanging in shreds. It was like seeing someone’s story backwards: Eisha and Farid had lived the same experience. Fear had sent them on the same terrible journey. They must have faced the same hardship and felt the same despair, along with Hassan and Jamal and Fatima, all of them. The relief I’d seen on their faces in the quiet valley outside the mine as they’d wandered round in the sweetness of the open air stayed with me.
If only it had lasted.
In between the news, I watched the daytime soaps and chat shows, swallowed antibiotics to combat the infection in my fingers, and dozed. From time to time, I’d wake to f
