Coming Home

Chapter 4

Nathaniel woke up from his infinite-like slumber in the ship's basement. His head felt heavy as though four bags of cements had been placed on it. His hands were tied behind him, while his back was against the wall, placidly. He still felt dizzy as he felt when he'd just alighted from the bus, only it was much lighter than then. As he tried to recall what had happened to him, his stomach began to grumble and churn. As expected, he threw up.

“Eww, disgusting!” someone said behind the darkness of the room. “It's the seasickness. This, obviously, must be your first time as well as the others.”

Nathaniel's head spun. Seasickness? Did that mean that he was. . .

Just before he could jolt his mind to complete the question, he threw up again.

“Ugh, cut it off!” the same voice said. Nathaniel could feel the latter using his buttocks to move away from Nathaniel.

Nathaniel thought about what the anonymous fellow had just said. What drew his attention was not the fact that he was in a ship, but the fact that the latter said that there were some other people other than himself who were new in basement for the first time. Without thinking further, he realised they must have been kidn*pped just as he had been.

“Where am I?” asked Nathaniel in a shaky voice.

As if thinking, the former said, “Where are you? Hmm. . . I think you're in the dungeon of the most feared ship sailed by pirates, in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea which pulled off Libya about an hour ago. . . that's where you are.”

The voice of the one speaking sounded so undisturbed and filled with ecstacy. The way he spoke, Nathaniel could tell that the latter was enjoying himself and making fun of him.

Blinking sequentially, his vision began to adapt to the darkness of the room. He was beginning to see who he was talking to. He realised that everyone in the room were also tied, hands-to-back.

Turning back to the one who had been replying him, Nathaniel began to ask in bewilderment.

“You mean I'm on the sea?”

“Apparently.”

“Where's the ship heading?”

“Europe.”

“How do you know all these?”

“I just know things.”

“I hear something overhead.”

“Me too.”

“What's that?”

“Umm. . . the pirates partying—” the “partying” was stressed, making it sound like a question.

“What's the cause of the celebrating?”

“They're going to make some money out of us.”

“Wait, what?”

“. . .”

Shaking his head and telling himself that the other party was still trying to making fun out of him by claiming the sailors were pirates, Nathaniel changed the topic.

“Are you a Nigerian?”

“Nah! Nothing like it. Why?”

Nathaniel looked towards the only window in the room which some phosphorescence poured in from.

“You don't sound like one.”

“How do Nigerians sound? Are they always asking ‘what, where, why, which, when and how?’” He chuckled dryly after asking this.

“How did I even get here in first place?” Nathaniel asked, fear finally getting to his heart and tears welling up in his eyes.

“Hmm. . . the first good question—”

As that one was about to say something more, one of the others who was seated opposite Nathaniel began to shout hysterically. He had a fat stature and a bulging stomach.

“That's the same hell of question me been asking here, nobody's saying nothing to me, man!”

“Take it easy, stranger. Look, we're all in this together, look on the bright side!” said the one who had been replying Nathaniel, casually.

Everyone seemed to have fallen silent and their eyes were fixed on him.

“That's more like it. So let's get to know one another informally, then could we think of a way out of here—”

“Do you have a plan?” asked one of the others, his accent was so clear Nathaniel could detect he was a Ghanaian without having to stress his head.

“Hey, hey, hey now, not so fast. We've got to come together in this, and we've got to be sure we could trust one another. However, like I've earlier said, we have to get to know one another informally. Shall we?”

* * *

One step at a time, he walked. His shoes knocked against the hardened, polished wood of the ship. A procession of bead-like perspiration began to form on his head. Gradually, he approached the door, a lightbulb hung over its frame. He stood in front of it for a moment, adjusting his tie before dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. He knocked three times on the door, sequentially.

As he waited before the door, he could feel his pulse on its rise, his heartbeats seemed to have been unusually loud in his ears.

First, everywhere was silent, then he noticed the light inside the room before him turn on — he could see the brilliancy reflect through the corners of the door.

Next, he felt slight footsteps advancing and, suddenly, the doorknob turned, causing the door to open with a slight screech, light illuminating the already bright passage.

There, the woman he was l**t over stood.

“Oh Derrick,” said Veil in surprise, “good evening.” Observing his countenance, she asked, “Is there any problem?”

“Yes,” he said impulsively. “No, umm. . . I mean, no problem at all.”

“Why are you acting all funny? Would you mind to come inside?” she asked, after an afterthought.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

They both walked in, shutting the door behind.

Veil was dressed in a nightgown.

“I see you were already asleep.”

Dropping on a seat, Veil turned to look at Derrick after he'd spoken.

“Not really; I was just about to. So. . .”

She cracked her voice to imply that he needed to state his business at that hour of the night for visiting.

“Ah, yes. The reason I came here. . .” he suddenly lost his voice.

Starting all over, he repeated, “The reason I came here is—”

Sensing his restrictiveness, she said, “I'm all ears, Derrick.”

Derrick grasped in a lung-full of air. He tried to remember what Wale, the attendant, had advised. He recalled the latter said of “speaking from the heart”.

“Miss Veil,” he began, a strong yet soft voice from his parted lips. “Ever since we met in this very ship, you've got me mesmerised by your physique—”

“My physique?”

“I mean, your personality—”

“Oh.”

“Everything about you. You glow brighter than a thousand sapphires, more beautiful than any lady I've ever met, since highschool. The only person whose dashing charm renders me speechless. I know it's just too early, but I can't help it.” At this, he fell on a knee and brought out the parcel in the pocket of his jacket. “Would you marry me, Miss Veil?”

Now, Derrick prepared his heart to be broken at this moment. Still he was willing to give it a try. He was saying a thousand prayers in his heart.

Veil began to blush. She didn't prepare for this. Her mouth just hung midway.

“I-I don't know what to say, Derrick—”

“Just say ‘I will’. My life revolves around you, Veil, as every planet does to the sun.”

After a moment of silence, she finally found her voice.

“Are you sure you're ready for this, my love?”

Derrick's eyes lit up.

“I'm hyper-positive. Don't worry about where we'd live, I have a house in Liverpool and, together, we'd go see my parents and fly back to Africa to see yours!”

He knew he couldn't help feeling so excited, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“That'd be lovely!” she shook her hands in excitement, before her arms around his neck.

“So. . . is that a yes?” he asked in a low voice, in her ears.

“Yes, I'll marry you, Derrick! I want to bear your name and have one or two kids with you!”

Derrick felt elated, so much that he pressed her against himself — he felt like screaming on top of his voice.

* * *

“Wake up now, sleepyhead, it's morning,” someone said.

Nathaniel opened his eyes slowly to the blurred environment. Mabel crouched over his head. He smiled. Sunlight lay lazily on his face. He wanted to brush his eyes when he, suddenly, felt his eyes tied. Then, it dawned on Nathaniel that he wasn't home, no; far from it.

‘Didn't I just see Mabel?’

He blinked sequentially, trying to look into the face before his eyes. Little by little, the face began to get clearer; and the person before him took the face of a young man, before recognition finally propped up in his head.

‘Ugh, it's just Ratty!’

“Come on, stand up. Time to get up!”

Nathaniel's eyes skedaddled across the room. He muttered “Good morning” to the staring faces.

Gathering some strength as he lay on his back, he raised his knees to his chest then propelled himself up, standing agile on both feet.

Ratty whistled in astonishment.

“That sure is some skill, how did you learn to do that?”

Feeling the question was rhetorical, he said rather, “What did you wake me up for?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“Yes work.”

“What kind of work?”

“Mopping, washing, and any other thing that is done in the basement of a ship by hopeless immigrants like everybody in this cabin,” said Ratty, indifferently.

“Whotcher call us, man, immigrants?” said, this time, a plump man who had introduced himself as Jarius from Jamaica.

“Exactly!” said Ratty.

“And where do you think we're immigrating to?” another named Kofi asked.

“England.” Ratty looked at everyone's face for a moment, then at the door, before saying, “It's time.”

Everyone exchanged glances.

“And what we people gonna do about our absence? I have a new wife, and an I'll mother; who gonna take care of them?” asked Jarius, provoked.

Nathaniel looked away, thinking about his own depending family. He was far away from home, and his loved ones. At that moment, he began to think about his wife and Julius — they would probably have started a search party. They probably might even be thinking he ran away.

Ratty's voice echoed round the room, once again.

“Look you, don't question me like you don't see I'm hands-to-back just like everyone else here — none of these are my faults. A great man once said, ‘Let the dead bury the dead.’”

At the far corner of the room, Max raised himself to his feet. He wasn't much of a talker. After he'd introduced himself, he hadn't uttered a single word more. There was just something about him that Nathaniel couldn't place right.

Max walked to the only door in the room, saying in a loud voice, after kicking the metal door, “We're ready.”

“That's more like it,” someone said from the outside, unlocking the door. The door opened to reveal a white boy with a rifle dangling across his shoulder. He seemed to be in his late twenties.

“Morning, chickens,” added the latter. “It's time to get you acquainted with some of the exciting works you'd be getting to do.”

They all followed him closely as he walked out of the passage to a large room that everyone could identify was a kitchen.

Turning to Ratty, the white boy said, “I hope you told them all they need to know down here, 'cause any f**k up, and ‘poof!’—” he drew out his index and middle finger towards them — “you'll drop dead.”

Ratty averted his eyes to a washand basin by his left arm.

“And just so you know, chickens, this rifle here is loaded,” the white boy pushed on, emphasising by patting his g*n tenderly, like a mother would do her infant. Almost under his breath, he added, “And I know how to use it.”

“Untie us now, g*n boy,” said Max, in his deep, no-joy voice.

“Yeah, it's about time, you know,” Ratty added.

The white boy sighed. He walked behind Ratty with his pocket-knife. With just a slight cut on the strong rope, it loosed free and dropped to the floor.

“Now that's what I'm talking 'bout, baby!” Ratty said that after flexing his bond-free wrists.

The boy pointed his rifle at Ratty, then at the dirty dishes in the washand basin. Ratty threw his hands over his head, saying, “Chill dude, I'm on it.”

Next, Max was untied, before Nathaniel, then Kofi. And just as the boy crouched behind Jarius to untie him, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder, causing him to subconsciously turn around — only to be welcomed with a clenched hand expanding at a great rate towards his face. Before he could process what was going on, he had been knocked to the ground by Max, while the others quickly made to tie his hands, legs and mouth. Ratty did a final conclusion by spitting on the boy's face, while Nathaniel wrapped off his consciousness with a fist of his own.

Kofi dragged the white boy into one of the kitchen cabinets and jammed it shut.

They rushed to untie Jarius. Done, they all ran out of the passageway, under Ratty's direction. The first (and, at the moment, only) plan of Ratty had successfully been carried out.