past. Malik saw a family inside, with four of them on the back seat clutching bags.
Papa marched around the corner and on toward the chain-link fence. A jeep was parked at the entrance to the docks, just the same as there had been the previous day. This time there were three soldiers slouched in the leather seats. Malik got a better look at the charred cockpit of the stricken plane, but he knew not to ask if he could climb inside, and Papa held his hand so tightly that he couldn’t pause for more than a moment and had to look back over his shoulder to get a proper look at it.
They strode onto the wide strip of concrete on the outskirts of the port. This was once where lorries would have been parked and then queued while they waited to embark, but now the strip was full of armoured vehicles and trucks with canvas covers, painted green and black for camouflage. Malik saw a grey tank like the one that had paused outside the cottage, and behind it there were two more.
Ahead of Malik, the ship was huge. It had a navy blue hull that towered into the air, with three tiers of decks, set one on top of the other like a wedding cake, each with bright white rails that ran aroundtheir edge. A single blue funnel rose from the middle of the ship. They walked toward it.
When they were closer, Papa slowed to a stop and looked around him. ‘Where did all these people come from?’ he asked.
Malik saw that a metal railing had been erected along the quay in front of the ship. Armed soldiers were strung out along its length to prevent anyone reaching the front and rear gangplanks. A line of passengers pressed up against the rail and more passengers were loosely gathered on the dock behind them.
Papa tightened his hand around Malik’s fingers. ‘Stay close to me. Do you hear?’
Malik was worried about the cat on his back. He imagined it sitting in the little dark space, too terrified to even make a noise. He wanted to take the rucksack off and open it up, but Papa wasn’t about to stop now. He was making his way through the crowd, stepping to the left and the right to avoid people that walked slower than they did. Malik was jerked quickly to one side as Papa pulled him out of the way of a truck which cut across their path sounding its horn, scattering the crowd.
Papa changed direction, making for the back ofthe dock, toward the warehouse and Port Authority buildings where the crowd thinned out and people were able to move more easily in both directions. Papa stopped six metres short of the red doors and Malik looked eagerly to see whether Mama was waiting at the entrance, though he could see she wasn’t there. Four men stood close to the warehouse entrance smoking twisted cigarettes they had rolled themselves, and on the far side of the doorway three women lay on hospital trolleys in the company of a cluster of nuns.
Malik said, ‘I can’t see Mama.’
‘We’re early,’ Papa replied, and he leaned against the wall of the warehouse. ‘There’s plenty of time yet.’
Above them was a billboard with an advertisement for Imperial Stout. Malik stood back and looked up at it – it showed a smiling man with a long black beard, holding a glass of dark beer.
‘But this is where we’re meeting her?’
‘Yes, this is the place.’ Papa had to raise his voice against a convoy of trucks, which had driven onto the quayside and came to a stop at the foot of the crane. They carried crates stencilled with the words C ENTRAL M USEUM . ‘I have to go and see my contactnow but I want you here when I return.’ Papa gave Malik one of his stern looks. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Can’t I come with you?’
‘No, Malik. Stay right here and don’t move a muscle. You need to be here so that Mama can see you.’
Malik nodded. ‘I’ll stay right here, Papa.’
An official with a clipboard and megaphone hurried past them and turned into the crowd. Malik pointed at him and tugged Papa’s sleeve. ‘Is that the man you know?’
Papa
Papa marched around the corner and on toward the chain-link fence. A jeep was parked at the entrance to the docks, just the same as there had been the previous day. This time there were three soldiers slouched in the leather seats. Malik got a better look at the charred cockpit of the stricken plane, but he knew not to ask if he could climb inside, and Papa held his hand so tightly that he couldn’t pause for more than a moment and had to look back over his shoulder to get a proper look at it.
They strode onto the wide strip of concrete on the outskirts of the port. This was once where lorries would have been parked and then queued while they waited to embark, but now the strip was full of armoured vehicles and trucks with canvas covers, painted green and black for camouflage. Malik saw a grey tank like the one that had paused outside the cottage, and behind it there were two more.
Ahead of Malik, the ship was huge. It had a navy blue hull that towered into the air, with three tiers of decks, set one on top of the other like a wedding cake, each with bright white rails that ran aroundtheir edge. A single blue funnel rose from the middle of the ship. They walked toward it.
When they were closer, Papa slowed to a stop and looked around him. ‘Where did all these people come from?’ he asked.
Malik saw that a metal railing had been erected along the quay in front of the ship. Armed soldiers were strung out along its length to prevent anyone reaching the front and rear gangplanks. A line of passengers pressed up against the rail and more passengers were loosely gathered on the dock behind them.
Papa tightened his hand around Malik’s fingers. ‘Stay close to me. Do you hear?’
Malik was worried about the cat on his back. He imagined it sitting in the little dark space, too terrified to even make a noise. He wanted to take the rucksack off and open it up, but Papa wasn’t about to stop now. He was making his way through the crowd, stepping to the left and the right to avoid people that walked slower than they did. Malik was jerked quickly to one side as Papa pulled him out of the way of a truck which cut across their path sounding its horn, scattering the crowd.
Papa changed direction, making for the back ofthe dock, toward the warehouse and Port Authority buildings where the crowd thinned out and people were able to move more easily in both directions. Papa stopped six metres short of the red doors and Malik looked eagerly to see whether Mama was waiting at the entrance, though he could see she wasn’t there. Four men stood close to the warehouse entrance smoking twisted cigarettes they had rolled themselves, and on the far side of the doorway three women lay on hospital trolleys in the company of a cluster of nuns.
Malik said, ‘I can’t see Mama.’
‘We’re early,’ Papa replied, and he leaned against the wall of the warehouse. ‘There’s plenty of time yet.’
Above them was a billboard with an advertisement for Imperial Stout. Malik stood back and looked up at it – it showed a smiling man with a long black beard, holding a glass of dark beer.
‘But this is where we’re meeting her?’
‘Yes, this is the place.’ Papa had to raise his voice against a convoy of trucks, which had driven onto the quayside and came to a stop at the foot of the crane. They carried crates stencilled with the words C ENTRAL M USEUM . ‘I have to go and see my contactnow but I want you here when I return.’ Papa gave Malik one of his stern looks. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Can’t I come with you?’
‘No, Malik. Stay right here and don’t move a muscle. You need to be here so that Mama can see you.’
Malik nodded. ‘I’ll stay right here, Papa.’
An official with a clipboard and megaphone hurried past them and turned into the crowd. Malik pointed at him and tugged Papa’s sleeve. ‘Is that the man you know?’
Papa
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