The Lost Sailors Read Free Page A

life. When there’s no turning back.”
    He pulled his chair in front of the porthole so he could continue to watch Diamantis, who was walking nonchalantly along the sea wall, like someone who has no particular destination in mind. He seemed to be limping, as if his left leg was an inch or two shorter than the right. It was only an impression. It was just his way of walking. Almost an assertion that he didn’t belong on dry land. Abdul himself had always been concerned with the way he walked, the way he held himself. It meant a lot to him. It was a habit he’d gotten from his father. “Stand up straight,” he’d always said. “A man with a bent back is a man who’ll put up with anything.” And he’d add, “Look me in the eyes. If you’ve done something stupid, that’s no reason to lower your head.” When he’d got back from Sydney, that was the way he’d confronted his father. Standing straight, looking him in the eyes. The two men had sized each other up. Then his father had simply said, “Welcome home, son.” One week later, he’d enrolled him as a trainee officer in the merchant navy.
    Abdul had been pleased to see Diamantis climbing the gangway ladder, in Genoa. All they’d told him was “We’ve found you a first mate.” He hadn’t expected Diamantis. Or anyone. The
Aldebaran
’s time was up. He knew that. It was just an old bulk carrier. Fit only for losers who’d become sailors the way other people became factory workers. Without enthusiasm. You had to earn a bit of money to live on, to feed your family. And these days it was easier to find an old tub about to leave than a decent job. It was true in Europe. It was true everywhere.
    Abdul watched Diamantis for a few more moments. He saw him stop, light a cigarette, then crumple the pack into a ball and throw it in the air and kick it before it hit the ground. It was a good kick, which propelled the ball of paper far out to sea. Abdul smiled. “Quite a character!” he thought. What was he doing, stuck here on the
Aldebaran
? He still couldn’t understand that.
    â€œWe all have our stories,” he told himself. He had his, and it was more than enough to be getting on with. He stood up and went and sat down at his work table. On the wall he had pinned a photo of Cephea and the children, and another in which he and his father were holding hands. Above the photos was a postcard of his home town, Deir al-Qamar, east of Beirut, which Walid had sent him before he left for La Spezia.
We’ve received compensation for grandfather’s house
, Walid had written.
You see, modern Lebanon is being rebuilt. At last there’s peace between our communities. Your place is still here with us. As I’ve already said, there’s enough work for our two families
.
    Abdul’s eyes moved rapidly from one image to the other, then came to rest on the forms he was supposed to give the crew. Once he’d countersigned them, each man would get one thousand five hundred francs as a lump-sum payment. The sailors agreed to forfeit all other rights, even if the ship was sold. It was a scam, of course. A way of reducing the costs for the new owner. But at least each man wouldn’t have lost everything. Abdul didn’t believe anymore that the
Aldebaran
would be bought by anyone. He didn’t believe much of anything anymore. Or, rather, just one thing. He was convinced his life was over. That was what he’d just written to Cephea.
I think at night the world abandons us . . .
The first sentence of his letter.
    Before leaving his cabin, Abdul noted in his log:
Nothing to report
. He wrote the same thing every day. Except that today it wasn’t true. Today, each sailor was going to sign the
Aldebaran
’s death warrant. His death warrant, too.
    Â 
    Diamantis had become a regular at a bistro on Place de Lenche, at the bottom end of the Panier, the old