Simon Remains; epilogue to The Igikoko

Aboard the MV Igikoko - 750 words

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Simon Remains

Polina Kuzovkova on Unsplash

IT’S COLD, yet I cannot shiver. I’m hungry, but I cannot eat. It’s black and I can find no light.

Mama help me.

Get me off this boat.

I hear its chugs, feel its thrum and beating heart, pounding, pounding at my feet and vibrating my damp bones, my lonely soul, and still it chugs on heedless, unconcerned with the likes of me.

I can’t find the way off. I can’t find the exit. I am doomed to the journey, always back and forth, up and down the lake, evening till dawn one way; evening till dawn back to the start.

I know not what happens during the light of day between trips. It passes in a blink. The boat, restocked with fresh passengers and a full cargo hold, begins a new leg of the endless journey every evening as the sun falls from the sky at 7:14 p.m.

Help me, Mama. Help me.

I am sorry I could not bring Father back with me, but he was whisked off in a torrent of uniforms and rifles as he shouted for me to run. We never saw Uncle Gustave, but people shout his name here, in the streets, and they gather in his name, carry signs with his image as they march through the government square.

They call him Gustave, the Great Crocodile, the Jaws from the Depths, the Beast, who terrorizes the President and his army.

Father and I went to the jail to visit Uncle Gustave, to inquire about his release. They would not let us see him, Mama, and so Father pleaded and promised that if they released his brother into his care, he would cart his body and soul back home to Ruzeri, where he would not bother the president any longer. The fat general with the heartless eyes refused.

Father tried to rally the men and women from the yellow hotel to help him break his brother free but the soldiers shot them all. They are all dead. At least, I think they are dead. When my father yelled at me to run, I ran and did not look back.

I’m ashamed. I was no help.

Get me off this boat, Mama.

I climbed aboard, told it would lead me home to Ruzeri and although other people come and go, as small boats knock up alongside like sucklings on a mother hippo, delivering passengers and food, then ferrying the same back to shore, I’m unable to break the chains of whatever force fastens me.

If I try to eat so much as a morsel of bread—even a dried, mouldy onion would feel succulent in my teeth—I vomit back up the chunk intact, as though I hadn’t touched it at all.

A few journeys ago, I tested the waters and jumped into the blackness swirling at the base of the boat. It was cold as Pluto and stopped my heart beating and before long, I found myself back on this boat, watching people ebb and flow, arrive and depart, up and down the lake.

Every night passes the same.

Mama, get me off. I want to come home. I am sorry I could not save Father or Uncle, but if you let me come home, I will be a fisherman, or a tailor and sell my things in the market every day. You will see.

I will finish my school at night and I won’t fight with my little sisters any more. I can help you look after them. Soon, Nella will turn eight and she will need someone to walk her to school, to look out for her. Boys can be cruel. I am strong. You will see. Also, Lyse will be crawling soon and you will need somebody to look after her while you go to the store, or the market to sell your fruit. Are you still selling fruit at the market, Mama? I can do that for you, too. I am excellent at the maths. Father taught me.

The boat whistle has sounded. Ruzeri is the next stop. Perhaps the next time you hear that whistle, Mama, you could send out a small boat. If you were to come alongside, I think whatever holds me, would permit me to leave. How could it refuse the love of mother and son?

Please hurry. I smell the burning leaves, hear the drums. They are coming.

Your boy,

Simon