Cyrill Delvin - The Gaza Project

Over the two years, since he had first gone to the landing place at the beach, his job hadn’t changed, but by now he was a kind of foreman leading a flock of other children and adolescents. The work was easy and satisfying. His troop unloaded the food and other supplies from the small boats and then transported their cargo to al-Qubāʾ in handcarts.

Haīkal and his gang weren’t the only ones rushing back and forth over the short distance. There were countless others like them. Young girls and women also helped. Over time, the goods weren’t just delivered to the refugee camps but everywhere else as well. It was said that the entire Gaza Strip was supplied from the large cargo ships anchored just off the coast.

The aid Ḥamās distributed always prominently displayed its origins. Wheat from Russia, rice from Thailand, blankets and tarpaulin from France. Commodities from the Red Crescent, from the UNESCO, the EU and so on. This organisation, too, had a name, but nobody understood it. People had got into the habit of calling it the Whale. The dolphins on the big ships‘ logos seemed too small for what they delivered. Like the largest of all the creatures inhabiting the seas, this non-profit organisation gave endlessly. Therefore the Palestinian helpers soon called themselves the Whalers.

In the morning Haīkal and his friends roamed around Gaza on the lookout for reusable rubbish. Everything was thoroughly inspected. It didn’t happen very often, but sometimes they did find something. In the past these things could be exchanged for food in the camp. Today, when nobody was starving anymore, the boys swapped their finds for other desirable goods. Occasionally Haīkal simply gave the things he had scavenged to those who needed them most.

The little troop generally returned to the camp around noon to be ready for the delivery work after the midday meal and prayers. Their route took them past the piles of rubble near the western Gate. The gang and others had already repeatedly dug through the waste, and the chances of still coming across anything usable were virtually non-existent. The exercise was pure routine. Despite the city noises, Haīkal suddenly thought he heard someone groaning.

»Did you hear that?« he asked Mishal who was pushing some loose stones around beside him.

»What?«

»The groaning?«

»No, I didn’t hear anything. Where did it come from?«

»I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you!«

But at that moment they both heard it.

»It’s coming from over there, from behind those cardboard boxes.«

»Be careful. Could be a hurt dog. Their bite’s the worst,« another one of the boys cried out.

Haīkal cleared the rubbish without listening to him. The rest of the gang stood close by, watching him in anticipation. To everyone’s surprise they didn’t find a wounded animal but a boy lying contorted between bits of plastic and cardboard. Haīkal called out to him, but he didn’t respond. When Haīkal turned him around, the boy wheezed without opening his eyes. The front of his shirt was drenched in blood.

»Let’s take him back to the camp,« Mishal suggested.

»The little one looks pretty bad,« Haīkal said, »We’ll better leave him here and get some help. You two stay with him and don’t move from this spot while we get Ḥusām,« he eventually instructed two of the older boys.

Ḥusām was at the supply station on his medical round. As a physician, apart from co-ordinating the medical provision for the entire Gaza Strip, he was also responsible for the health care in al-Qubā.

»Ḥusām! Come quickly! We found an injured boy. He’s covered in blood.«

»Calm down. Do you know him?«

»No, I have never seen him before.«

»Where did you find him?«

»In a rubbish heap in front of the western Gate.«

»Was he buried under the rubble?«

»I don’t know, he’s lying in it. Perhaps he crawled there himself.«

In the meantime the doctor had pulled out his bag with the red crescent from beneath the table. »Okay, take me to the boy.« Addressing two other aid workers outside the tent he said: »And you two best come with me. We may need some help.«

Haīkal led them to the pile of rubbish where the boy was still lying, breathing heavily. Ḥusām knelt down beside him and asked: »What’s your name?« He didn’t get an answer. The irregular creaking when the boy breathed out was the only sound he made when Ḥusām examined him. When he was finished, he got up and said: »He must have internal injuries in the stomach region. Maybe he fell or he was beaten.«

»But what about all the blood?« Haīkal asked.

»I don’t know where it’s coming from, but it is at least half a day old. I can’t give him a proper check-up here. We’ll have to get him onto the ship.«

»The supply ship?«

»Not the supply ship; the command ship. I may be able to treat him there if it isn’t already too late.«

His usually cheerful disposition had given way to a worried expression. He took out his mobile phone and walked a few steps away. Although Haīkal didn’t catch much of the conversation, he noticed that the discussion was quite heated.

»Get the cart and a few blankets from the supply station. We’ll get him on board as quickly as we can!«

By the time the others got back, Ḥusām had given the little Arab an injection and prepared him for the transport as well as he could. On their way to the ocean they tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. They had hidden the injured boy, whose breathing became increasingly laboured, under the blankets.

When they finally arrived at the shore, a dinghy was already waiting for them. Haīkal deciphered the name: Malta III. The mist lingering above the water created an opaque wall in the distance. Behind it must be more than the supply ships which were still just about visible from the shore. In the afternoon, when the boys returned to the city with their fully laden cart, Haīkal gazed across the ocean once more. The mist had slightly lifted at this stage. Far behind the supply ships he saw a small dot slowly rising up into the air. A helicopter, he surmised and thought I hope the boy will make it .

Abdoul was out on the ocean with his grandfather. From what seemed far away he could hear the hum of the outboard engine. He felt neither too cold nor too hot. Only the intensity of the light irritated him. Were they on their way back? He wanted to open his eyes to see the fish buckets, but couldn’t. And yet he could see Amir bent over him with a smile. But Amir was so young. Instead of the white beard he had a black moustache. Abdoul was just going to ask him about it when the scene slipped away.

Then he heard water swishing and sputtering. He was holding a shiny golden shell in his hands. He had never seen one more beautiful. The outside was so smooth, it reflected his face. Behind his mirror image a stunningly lovely mermaid climbed out of the water and over the edge of the boat. Now you have found it. Come with me. Forget your worries and your grief. Be my guest – forever.

The voice sounded alluring. Abdoul wanted to turn towards it when the scene vanished again. He couldn’t move. He wanted to talk, but couldn’t open his mouth. Just as he started to feel irritated, everything went black around him. The shell got smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a glowing golden spot amidst nothingness. Still very beautiful. Then the darkness engulfed it as well.

Eventually he perceived a gentle swaying motion. He opened his eyelids and looked at the large fan rotating above him on the ceiling. When he moved over on his side in the comfortable bed, he recognised the blue sky through a porthole. He was evidently on a vessel calmly floating through the ocean. But when he tried to sit up to get a better view, an excruciating pain shot through his stomach. He sank back into the soft pillow with a groan and gasped aloud, fighting the surging drowsiness not very successfully. He had no idea how long he had been lying like that in his semi-conscious state.