Wanderlust

Lola’s Mum tuckered her tenderly into bed.

There was an odd noise,“pfff” and a horrible smell.

“Say ‘excuse me’, dear.”

“But Mum, I didn’t do anything.”

Lola’s Mum nodded knowingly and smiled, “Good night darling”.

“But I didn’t do anything...”, said Lola plaintively. Mum had already left the darkened room.

She quickly fell asleep.

In the night Lola was awakened to the sound of light snoring. She listened curiously then sat up. It couldn’t be coming from her sister’s room or from her parent’s room. She listened again, all was quiet and still. Perhaps she’d imagined it.

Lola snuggled in and once again fell asleep.

“Achoo!”

Lola’s eyes opened wide and her heart raced. She jumped out of bed. The noise seemed to have come from under her bed. She looked cautiously, peering into the shadows. There was nothing there!

Lola inched back into the corner of the room. She watched her bed silently, not daring to move.

The bed shivered as if someone were sitting on it. Now it wobbled; “ah” it said.

“Hello” said Lola.

“Hello” said a deep and slow, but friendly voice.

“W W Who are you?”, Lola stuttered.

“Who are you? “, said the voice. It seemed to be coming from near her bed.

“I’m Lola and this is my room.”

“It’s a lovely room; it’s my room too.”, said the voice. Lola crept forward and then with a sudden movement grabbed the bed coverings and pulled them off.

“Oh, hello”, said her mattress, “I can see much better now”. Lola stared with her mouth wide open; for there, looking back at her was a big friendly mattress face.

“You’re a mattress, you’re not supposed to talk or even move. You’re just supposed to lie there.”, said Lola.

“What if should want to go travelling?”, asked the mattress.

“You can’t. You have no legs.”, said Lola.

“But a snake doesn’t have any legs and it travels very well.”, counted the mattress.

“But you’re too wide and square to be a snake”.

“What if I should want to swim?”, asked the mattress.

“Swim! You can’t, you’re soft and fat, not at all like a fish!” said Lola

“But a walrus is soft and fat and it can swim very well”, counted the mattress.

Lola was becoming exasperated.

There was a long pause.

“I could always fly.”, said the mattress thoughtfully.

“You can’t”, said Lola, “you too heavy”.

“A plane doesn’t...”, began the mattress.

“But a plane has engines!”, interrupted Lola.

“...but a bird doesn’t have engines.”, said the mattress.

“A mattress can’t fly!” declared Lola firmly.

This seemed to silence the mattress and before long she once again heard the sound of quiet snoring.

After a time, Lola climbed carefully back into bed. She arranged her pillow where her feet would usually go trying not to wriggle too much. What curious development. Lola fell asleep not sure what to think.

In the morning, she found her bed was made and she was facing the right way around. Was it all a dream or did it really happen? Perhaps, Mum or Dad had come in during the night and fixed up her bed?

Lola got ready for school. Over breakfast she mentioned an odd dream about a taking mattress. Her Dad smiled but didn’t ask any questions so she let it drop.

School was uneventful but when she arrived home the whole house was in a great commotion.

“There’s been a robbery!” declared her sister Elsie.

“What do you mean?”, asked Lola.

“Well the odd thing is that it’s only your mattress which has been stolen”. Elsie explained that Mum had been busy that afternoon with baby Lang when she heard a kind-of-thumping from the bedroom hallway. By the time she got there she heard splash in the pool. She rushed to the window overlooking the pool and saw a huge wet bird, or maybe some kind of bat heavily flapping its way over the trees and into the sky. It was very wet and square.

Lola didn’t know what to say.

There were police in her bedroom asking questions and taking notes. It was all very strange and nobody seemed to know what to make of the whole affair.

Lola decided not to make things more complicated by telling them all about last night. They might, after all, think she was crazy. Everyone knows that mattresses can’t walk, swim or fly.

That night, she had to sleep on the spare bed in Elsie’s room. Mum made sure the window was locked, pushed the chair back into the corner, kissed both children tenderly on the forehead and switched off the light.

“Goodnight Mum.”, said Lola.

“Goodnight Lola .”, said Mum.

“Goodnight Mum.”, said Elsie.

“Goodnight everyone.”, said the chair.

© Mark Wilson 2008

Somalia

They burst aboard with black balaclavas and unintelligible screams waving their guns in dangerous directions. Everyone they encountered hit the decking and lay as flat as possible. Pop, pop, pop went a semi-automatic weapon somewhere distantly forward. A scream and a sound like breaking glass followed by a wail of sirens Doppler shifted the length of the huge vessel. Smoke; the smell of ocean then an awful fearful silence.

John didn’t move but his mind and senses reached out in every direction desperately trying to locate his 6 year old daughter, Jenny. Where was she? Things seemed safe so he risked a look towards the door he’d just come through. Pop, pop, pop nearer this time. Flat again, heart racing and the sound of his own breathing in his ears; erratic. Please Lord, protect her little life. The wind gusted and the siren abruptly cut off.

The silence that followed was long and lonely. Time elongated. The captain had briefed them all on the possibility of piracy. They were all to cooperate fully; offering no resistance. Their course was supposed to keep them out of danger. But clearly the captain and his officers were wrong.

Organised crime in Somalia, having ravaged the country’s interior, turned its attention to the sea and the lucrative commercial trade pouring out of the Suez canal. Well resourced rebel fighters with careers beginning in childhood became pirates by attacking foreign ships with hand cannons, machetes and rifles. Such huge lumbering targets laden with treasure were hard to resist. It was the ransoms that made the effort worthwhile. And with each win, the pirates got bolder. This time they took on the largest cargo vessel ever built, the super tanker Knock Nevis - nearly half a kilometre long. It fell without a fight.

Without moving, John continued to search for some evidence of his daughter’s whereabouts. Was she smart enough to hide? She was so trusting and curious. Perhaps she was still in their cabin playing. Or perhaps one of the crew, learning of the danger early, had hidden her away safely. So to look for her would put them both in danger. But if she were wandering the deck, as she often did mid-morning, then she might become a target. What should he do? Lord, what should I do?

He longed to embrace her sweet wire frame and kiss the tiny face that reminded him so much of his wife. The profound forehead and serious mouth. And the smell of soapy skin and fresh pyjamas at bedtime. Always asking insightful questions like, Dad if the ship’s so big why doesn’t it sink? Something to do with density he had replied.

Two men hauled him to his feet roughly and pushed him forward. Caught by surprise he just managed to not wet his pants. They yelled and gesticulated that he should go, he went. Everyone was probably being found and contained. As he rounded the ships central structure he saw smoke leaking from a damaged door. There was a smudge of what looked like blood on the ground near a ladder. Pop, pop, pop. John jumped, that was near. His heart pounded. Is this it Lord? Where is my daughter?

The men pushed him into a narrow hall lit dimly from above by incandescent bulbs in think glass encasements. Everything was steel and crusted with paint. He hadn’t ever been to this part of the ship before. It was some kind of mechanical workshop with huge winches and tools for Titans. Around a corner and there was a tightly gathered group of men, bound and looking very afraid. The smell of fear and urine was present. One of the crew lay on the ground in a pool of blood moaning quietly. Four men dressed entirely in black stood watched and talked in some African language, one without a balaclava. Was he the leader? His face was scarred and tattooed as if he had given up caring anymore what others might think. There was hatred in is red-rimmed cloudy eyes.

John’s hands were roughly bound with what looked like green earth wire. It was tight and cut into his skin sharply. He wriggled back some movement as he was shoved together with the others. His fellow hostages watched him silently. The group accounted for maybe a third of the crew. Jenny was not among them.

He could the hear the ship’ huge engine throbbing from here which meant that they were still underway. The all pervasive smell of warm diesel drifted past and that greasy smell found in all mechanical workshops. One of the pirates was talking on a two-way radio. So they were well equipped.

The force of what began just an hour ago was beginning to hit home and he began to shake. Lord, protect my little girl. The man on the ground stopped moaning and became very still. One of bound men made a move to assist him but was stopped by a look and the barrel of a gun waved generally in his direction. John watched as the pirate used his foot to roll over the body. This is what death look like he thought. What will it feel like?

Soon shock would give way to anger and anger to hate. John could already feel hate seeping into his soul. How dare they threaten him and his daughter. How dare they kill that man. What right did they have? Lord, enact your vengeance. Protect your people. Please protect Jenny.

© Mark Wilson 2008