The End of the Ocean

Chapter 14 DAVID

“Now it’s time for bed,” I said as we walked towards Hall 4.

Lou replied with a loud yawn.

It was late today, too. Much later than I’d planned, still no system for bedtime.

The young boys from the line were sitting by the entrance to the hall, in a circle around a pot, like it was a campfire. Each of them held their own cup.

“Tea?” one of them asked me in English as we walked past.

The other two snickered.

Maybe it wasn’t tea in the pot, maybe they were drinking something else altogether. It was too dark for me to be able to see their eyes, whether they were under the influence.

“Do you all live in here?” I asked.

“We were assigned places here, yes,” the first one said.

“He has to sleep on the floor,” the other one said and pointed at the third.

The hall had become crowded over the past couple of days.

“We can take turns. Every third night,” he said.

“Yeah, right,” the first one said.

They had a good laugh about that. A little listless. A laughter that lingered.

They were my age, but nonetheless younger. They only had themselves.

And were they drinking something? Warmth in the stomach, the gradual heaviness, lightness, the thoughts obliterated. The taste of alcohol on the tongue, in the body. It had been a long time.

But Lou was standing beside me. Lou, whose eyes were rolling with drowsiness, who said nothing, but whose presence was strong nonetheless.

I wanted to push her along with me into the hall, but the first guy grabbed hold of my shin.

“C’mon, have a seat,” he said.

“Have some tea,” the other one said.

“Mint tea,” the third one said. “Found it in a garden along the way. It’s been hanging from my knapsack, drying out.”

Mint tea? Was it only mint tea?

“I just have to put the little one to bed first,” I said.

Their names were Christian, Caleb and Martin. They spoke to me quickly, in broken English, just as bad as my own. Christian and Caleb had met in a camp up in the mountains further south, a camp from which everyone had fled. They had picked up Martin along the way.

They came from southern Spain all three of them, from the desert. Nobody could be bothered to say much about the time before. But they had many stories from the road and from the last camp. All the stories ended in laughter, as if the things they’d experienced were from one long road trip with the boys. It was only when they talked about the guy in the line that they changed, that the hardness came over them again. They called him a bastard from the north, a water bastard.

“They have the Ebro, so they think they have everything,” Caleb said.

“A tiny corner of Spain that wants to isolate itself from the rest,” Martin said.

“They criticize the water countries, but do the same thing themselves, in their own country,” Christian said.

“When those of us in the south can’t manage to combine our resources,” Caleb said, “share what we actually have, how will… how…” He didn’t finish.

“I don’t give a shit,” Martin said. “I don’t give a shit about Spain. It’s not my country any longer. I don’t want to live there. Or here. It just keeps getting worse. Soon there will be desert everywhere. I’m going to save myself. Make it to the rain.”

They all nodded, they all felt the same way.

But then Martin laughed, started mouthing off and the others played along, partly in Spanish and partly in English, out of politeness towards me.

And it was only mint tea. They snickered when I told them I thought it was something else, said that they wouldn’t have minded that. Caleb mumbled that he’d heard there was a way to get hold of some, that there was a guy selling it in Hall 3. I replied that it wasn’t for me, that I needed to keep my wits about me, for Lou’s sake.

“I have a child to think about,” I said.

At that moment I remembered that I’d forgotten to check whether she had fallen asleep. She was accustomed to my being there with her, to our going to bed at the same time. But she hadn’t come out again, so it was probably fine. She was probably fast asleep.

I took another sip, but was unable to relax. I had a feeling that something was wrong.

“Sorry,” I said and got to my feet.

The hall was in semidarkness. Many people were already sleeping. But Lou was awake. Her little face was pale, and her eyes were open wide.

“Hello there,” I said, and sat down beside her.

She just stared straight in front of her.

“Is something wrong?”

“It hurts,” she said.

And now I noticed how stiff her body was, lying there with her knees against her tummy. Her entire body was tense.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“My tummy.”

“Are you sick to your stomach?”

“It hurts.”

I was about to say something. About the water. About the rag. I told you so, I was going to say. Why did she have to go and suck on that damn rag? I had been very clear. It was dangerous. Water poisoning, people had been dying from it in droves in recent years.

But she curled up even more tightly, wailed faintly and I could not bring myself to scold her.

“I’m sure it will soon pass,” I said, and patted her on the cheek.

She was cold and sticky, her eyes introspective.

“Do you want some water?”

I retrieved the water bottle and held it up to her mouth. She took a small sip and struggled to swallow.

“Lou?”

I stroked her head. She didn’t respond.

“Get some sleep now,” I said. “That will help.”

I sat down on my own bed. Looked at her. But she didn’t move.

I lay down. On my side, facing her. I stared at her the whole time. It felt like it was important that I not take my eyes off her.

She was breathing calmly.

Was she asleep?

It was quiet in the hall. I heard only the low voices of the Spaniards outside. One of them laughed again. Right now I wished they would be quiet. Their laughter drowned out the sound of Lou breathing.

I lay facing her until my own eyes also slid shut.

“Daddy!”

“Yes?”

I came to. It was dark. Completely silent.

“I feel nauseous.”

And then, before I could do anything about it, the sound came that is worse than any other sound, the sound of a child retching. Half-strangled croaks, underlined by tears. The most painful sound in the world.

She vomited in her bed. It landed on everything. The bedclothes. Her hair. Our clothing.

“Get up,” I said. “Quickly.”

She got to her feet, sobbing weakly, and stood between our beds, trembling. But she was unable to speak. She retched again. But only halfway. More like a gulp. Nothing came out. But it would come.

A bucket, dammit, we needed a bucket. I looked around me. The water bottle. My knapsack in the cupboard. An empty water glass. There was nothing here that I could use.

“Quick. Out,” I said and took hold of her.

But it was too late. She raised her hands, held them in front of her face and caught what came out. The second round of vomit covered her fingers. Her arms.

“Lean over,” I said. “Spit up on the floor. We can clean up afterwards.”

Obediently she bowed her head and upper body down towards the concrete floor. Another round of vomiting was on its way. I could see the struggle in her body, building up through small spasms.

And then yet another torrent of vomit flew out of her mouth, vomit that had once been food. I recognized the yellow color from some dry crackers she’d eaten this afternoon.

An intense acidic smell.

She retched again and again.

Finally nothing more came out. Just some long strings of slime hung from her mouth.

I found a roll of toilet paper and wiped it away, helped her blow her nose. There was vomit there too.

She was crying. Painful, desperate crying, while her entire little body shook.

“It’s because of the rag,” she sobbed. “I sucked on it.”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “No, I’m sure it’s not because of that.”

But she cried, sobbing loudly.

“Shhh, it’s fine, Lou. It will be fine.”

I stroked her hair, her cheeks. Tried to avoid getting too much vomit on my hands. Everything smelled sour.

Then I pulled off her smelly T-shirt. Turned it inside out and used it to dry off her hair. I managed to clean off the worst of it.

I laid her down in my bed, where the bedding was clean. Peeled the bedding off hers and put it, along with her T-shirt, under my arm.

“Where are you going?” Lou asked fearfully.

“To get a bucket,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re nice, Daddy.”

She lay her head down on the sweater she used as a pillow and closed her eyes.

I thought she would fall asleep, that it was over now. Nonetheless, I went to find a bucket just to be on the safe side. The hall had a broom closet that was seldom opened. It’s hard to clean when you don’t have any water.

But when I came back, she was awake. Again she was lying there all curled up. Again her body was all stiff.

“My tummy hurts again.”

“It will pass.”

“It hurts so much!”

“Try to lie on your back,” I said.

She didn’t react.

I gently took hold of her.

“Look here, try to stretch out.”

I unfolded her body. Placed my hands on her tummy. Massaged it carefully.

But she just cried.