Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

Mihai nodded to David, then looked at Leon, face strained.

“Prepare to board.” The loudspeaker, still in Turkish, so the passengers, already rattled, began to panic.

Mihai held his hands up to them for quiet, then leaned over the side with a megaphone. “What do you want? We’re the Victorei . Our papers are in order.”

Leon leaned forward to hear, keeping his face out of the light. Maybe a routine check, another bribe, not given away after all.

“Police. Your new passengers.”

A quick turn of his head, Mihai meeting Leon’s eyes. Any police, David puts you off. It’s understood? It’s not for you, this ship. Endgame. And for an instant Leon felt an odd light-headed release, the clock stopping. Mihai looked from Leon to Alexei, then turned back to the rail.

“What new passengers? We are only ourselves.”

“Yes, yes.” A cocky gravelly sound on the loudspeaker. Gülün. “All right. Passenger search. A ladder?” A second’s pause, Gülün drawing his gun. “Now.”

Mihai nodded to two sailors to lower the ladder, then turned to the crowd again. “Listen to me. Do you want to go to Palestine?”

A shocked nod of heads.

“Then do what I say. Go back. Say nothing. Nothing.”

“But what-”

“Nothing! Or I leave this ship. They’ll take me away.” He waited.

A silence, only the police boat still shrieking.

“Do you understand? You saw nothing. No one. Take her down below,” he said, looking at the Romanian woman. “Give her something. The rest, tell them to stay in their bunks.”

“Ladder’s down,” the sailor shouted, a kind of alert.

“They’ll send us back,” Mihai said. “Understand?”

People began to move.

“And then maybe you’ll explain-”

“You can take over this ship any time you want,” Mihai said, then held out the megaphone.

The man looked down, then turned and headed for the stairs.

“Anyone else?” Mihai said.

Leon looked at him. Confronting everybody, spending what was left in his account, no reserves.

“Good.” He glanced over the rail. “Get ready,” he said, waving people back to their places, then went over to Leon and Alexei, suddenly at a loss, as if he’d forgotten about them. Shouts from the water, climbing feet banging against the hull.

“I’ll take him below,” Leon said, almost afraid to look at Mihai, the debt too great now.

“No. People know. Or they will. They’ll kill him. I don’t know how long I-”

“You want to give us up?” Leon said.

Mihai flicked his hand, brushing this off, then glanced around the deck, breathing in sharp intakes, finally beginning to panic.

“Is there another ladder? The other side?” Alexei said, thinking out loud.

“Ladder to what? There’s no boat.”

“To hide. We’ll hang on. Nobody’s going to look outside the boat.”

Mihai looked up at him, a kind of reluctant salute, then nodded.

They hurried across the deck, heads following them, and lifted the clump of ladder and flung it over the side, the anchor ropes barely noticeable in the coiled piles near the railings. The lifeboats, refuge for stowaways, were overhead, a different search area. From the other side of the ship, a shrill whistle, some signal to the search party that triggered involuntary cries on deck, the sound of roundups, whistles and boots. A woman started crying, burying her face in a man’s shoulder.

“I won’t sacrifice the ship,” Mihai said to Leon. “These people deserve-”

“I know.”

“Just pull us back up when it’s over,” Alexei said, a gruff familiarity.

Mihai stared at him. More noise from the police party, almost at the top, like a wake-up hand on his shoulder. “Quick,” he said, turning, putting his body between them and the police.

Alexei looked at the rope, then at Leon, suddenly nervous again.

“All right,” Leon said, going first.

He climbed over the railing and started backing down the rope steps, feeling for them, his last sight of the deck a row of heads watching him. One signal was all Gülün would need, one finger pointing. But the row didn’t move, huddling into itself, turning to Mihai now. Leon looked up. Nobody.

“Come on!”

Then a foot, another, working their way down until Alexei’s head was below the rail too, both of them dangling on the side of the ship, the wind slapping the bottom of the ladder against the hull. Leon kept going, past a row of portholes, his weight steadying the ladder. If this were a building he could make his way along the ledge to the window, climb in out of sight. To people who’d be waiting for them, the story everywhere now. Some rag in the mouth to muffle the sound, everything quick, no noise, then the splash of water, maybe not even heard on deck, another wave.

“Where are you going?” Alexei whispered, his hands gripping the rope.

“Out of sight.”

“Where, in the water?”

“A little further. Okay, here. Hang on.” The rough sisal began cutting into his palms. He shifted more weight to his legs, feeling the wind press into his back.

He could hear loud voices up top. Gülün bullying, eyes peering at him from under cap brims and shawls. Just one. But no one spoke. Do you want to go to Palestine? Worth everything.

A wave broke against the hull sending jets of spray upward, wetting the bottom of his pants, spattering drops on his neck, hands. A sudden light from the porthole to his right, maybe a flashlight going through the hold. Seeing the bodies stacked in bunks, a photograph from the war. Would the police ask them to get down, look behind everyone, or hurry through, anxious to get out of the smell before any hands could touch them. A baby started crying, wakened by the light.

Another wave sprayed icy water as the ship listed slightly. The rope ladder swung out from the hull. Leon looked down, a black void, then braced for the swing back, making his shoes take most of the impact. How long could they hang here, wet hands clutching rope? He shifted his weight again, feeling the strain in his arms. Not thinking anymore, not having to decide anything, just holding on. He had even stopped wondering what they were saying on deck, what Mihai would do if Gülün ordered the ship to turn around. But why would he? Unless he was sure Leon was on board. Not any ship, this ship. He thought of the hamam , the tram ride, but no one had been hovering behind, not even in his imagining. What had he said to Kay? More voices, closer to this side of the ship.

At first, he felt it was more spray from below and then he felt the drops on his head, random but steady. When he raised his face there were more, coming faster. He flattened himself against the rope, hunching his shoulders to keep the rain from dripping down his collar. Cold, seeping into his wool jacket. He heard Alexei swear to himself. But maybe it would make Gülün hurry, decide his tip had been wrong. If it had been a tip.

More flashlights sweeping through the sleeping quarters, bunk by bunk. At least they were dry there, not soaking on deck like the others. Another whistle signal, maybe calling the searchers back up top. How long before they gave up? You couldn’t get everybody in a roundup. People hid beneath floorboards, squeezed behind stairs. The wind came up again, blowing rain against the ship, and Leon shivered, his hands stiff with cold, clothes heavier, pulling at him.

Then a loud crash, a lifeboat being lowered off its davits.

“There’s some mistake. These people are refugees.” Mihai’s voice, closer now, the search party moving to this side.

“Take the cover off.” A policeman, not Gülün, the rest of his Turkish cut off by a freighter’s moaning foghorn, not too far off, the rain like a light curtain, making everything blurry.