Sonali Deraniyagala - Wave

The same nurse from the morning saw me and came over. She stroked my head, she knew my children were missing, she said. I stiffened, I didn’t want to see her look sad for me. Now she was going to make me cry, and I didn’t want that. I hadn’t shed a tear all day, and I wasn’t going to. Not with all these people here, not now.

A truck pulled in. Its headlights swung across the front yard of the hospital. They’ve found more survivors even though it’s late, they are bringing them in. For a moment that’s what I thought. But then it erupted. The scream. In an instant everyone in that room surged to the entrance. They howled in unison, shoving each other, pushing forward, desperate arms stretched out. Some policeman arrived and pushed them back. But the wailing went on. No words, just an unending, rising, screaming scream. Then I knew. This truck was different. It was bodies this truck had brought.

I’d never heard shrieking like this before. So wild, wretched, it frightened me, rattled the wall I was holding on to. This noise was crackling into the numbness in my head. It was blasting the smallest stir of hope in my heart. It was telling me that what had happened was unthinkable, but I didn’t want this confirmed. Not by wailing strangers, I did not.

I pushed my way through the crowd, I had to escape this din, I had to go outside. As I neared the front entrance, a policeman trying to calm the crowd yelled out, “These bodies are not your people, they are only tourists from the hotel.” I didn’t flinch when I heard him. I focused on getting out. I moved through the throng of people as if his words did not matter. I didn’t drop to the ground. I didn’t even whimper, though it was now my turn to scream.

I stumbled into Mette’s jeep, parked under a lamppost by the front gates. It was quiet in there. I sat in the driver’s seat and put my head down on the steering wheel. The bodies are from the hotel, the policeman said.

Anton found me in the jeep. I still had my head on the steering wheel when I heard his voice. I didn’t grasp what he was saying at first. Then I heard the word mortuary, and I balked. Does he want me to go to the mortuary? He can’t be serious, is he out of his mind? I knew I couldn’t step in there, no way. I couldn’t even think the thought, What if Vik and Mal are there? Even though it hovered unformed in my head.

When I finally understood what Anton was asking, I was thrown. He wanted me to push him to the mortuary in a wheelchair. A wheelchair? Then he explained. The wounds on his feet were too painful, he couldn’t walk that far. So could I wheel him there? My mind was mangled. I have to push him through rows of dead people in a wheelchair? I told him I couldn’t do it. He pleaded, and I kept refusing, for a while at least. But I was tired, I was beaten. Any resolve I had quickly waned, and I gave in.

The wheelchair was heavy. I had to maneuver it through the crowd. I was furious at having to do this and rammed it into whoever was in my path. Anton gave me directions, and I pushed him along an open corridor, all the time thinking, this cannot be really happening, it surely cannot. Is this me, with an old blanket around my waist, pushing a wheelchair to a mortuary where my entire family might be? Then Anton pointed to a room. I’m not going in, I’m not going near the place, I thought. I let go of the wheelchair and saw it roll down the sloped corridor towards the room. I found my way to the jeep and sat in the dark.

Anton came back, I don’t know how much later. He stood by the window of the jeep. He found Orlantha, he told me. He found her, only her. She is not with us anymore, she is gone, he said.

His face was empty. I held his hand. This is getting real now, I thought. Slowly, very slowly, the realness of what was unfolding was seeping into my brain. I knew then I had to go back to Colombo. There will be more trucks coming in through the night, more bodies. I had to get out.

Mette agreed to take me to Colombo. His jeep was too decrepit for the journey, he had to find us a car. He turned on his phone, and for the first time that day there was a signal. He gave me the phone. I rang my mother’s mobile. That’s the first thing I did, still thinking there was a possibility it might ring, that they might even answer. But they did not. There was only that recording in Sinhala, the number you have called is not responding. Mette then suggested I call my aunt’s house. I did so reluctantly, I punched the numbers on the keypad slowly. How do I explain, what do I say? My cousin Krishan answered. The connection was bad, there was a lot of interference. I mumbled something like, it’s only me who survived, I’m coming back. The phone went dead, again the signal was gone.

Mette took me to his home, which was very near the hospital, on a quiet street. There was a well in his front garden, by the side of a large tree. I could hear splashing in the dark, someone was taking a bath. Mette’s wife and daughter were home. He told them to look after me, he was taking me to Colombo, he was going out to find us a car.

I sat on a brown leather armchair in their living room. The two women sat on the sofa next to me. They offered me food and drink. I said I didn’t want anything. They insisted and brought me a cup of very sweet tea. I sipped it, it tasted nice. I held the cup with both hands, that warmth felt good.

They asked me about what happened. I’d hoped they wouldn’t, but they did. When did we see the wave, where were we then, what did it look like, did it roar, where did I run to, where did I last see my kids. I didn’t reply. There was a big clock on the table across from me. I sat cross-legged on the armchair and ogled that clock. I could see they were shaken and upset for me, these women, but I didn’t want to speak. I wanted to fade into that chair.

The women began to lament my plight. Never in their lives had they heard such a story, everyone dying and just one person left. She’s lost her children, she’s lost her world, how can she live? And her children, they were so beautiful. If they were me, the women wailed, they wouldn’t be sitting quietly, they’d be out of their minds, most likely they would have died of grief. I said nothing. My eyes clung to that clock.

The front door of the house was open, neighbors and relatives wandered in. They were told about me. Everyone looked at me aghast. She’s lost her children? And her husband and her parents? Some of the visitors left quickly and returned with more people saying, look at this poor lady, isn’t it unbelievable, her whole family is gone. I was slumped in that brown armchair. Is this me they are talking about?

Someone pointed to the cuts on my face and arms and legs. Everyone looked anxious and worried. I might get an infection, why didn’t I have my wounds cleaned up at the hospital, they asked. I shrugged. Then there was concern because I didn’t want food. I might faint if I don’t eat, after what I’ve been through. Where was Mette? I wished he’d hurry up. I wondered if the hands on that clock were stuck.

At one time everyone in that house began to panic. What if that wave comes back tonight, it could kill them all. It was an elderly man who set this ranting off when he wheeled his bike into the house. They were too afraid to sleep tonight. This is it, they will all be engulfed, probably soon, you never know when. Don’t be silly, I thought to myself, you live about twenty miles away from the sea. But I didn’t have the energy to allay their fears, I couldn’t open my mouth to talk.

Some three long hours later Mette returned with a van. The owner of the van would drive us to Colombo. It was close to midnight. Finally I could stop watching that clock. I felt huge relief when I first climbed into that van. But as we began driving in the darkness, I was scared. I didn’t want to get to Colombo. I wanted to escape the madness of the hospital, I wanted to get away from everyone at Mette’s house, but couldn’t I somehow stay suspended in my confusion? I want to sit in the back of this moving van forever. In a few hours it will be light. It will be tomorrow. I don’t want it to be tomorrow. I was terrified that tomorrow the truth would start.