An extract of my translation of Paradise Denied appeared in today's Independent.
"The rain gets lighter as we clamber down to the shore, though the wind whistles around our ears and tears at the sparse foliage that clings to the rocks. We can hear the sound of our panting and the roar of the sea. The pale moonlight is reflected on the waves; there's an elongated shape, a dark protrusion, on the shore – a rowing boat, lying upside down on the stones.
I've never seen a boat like this before. It looks like a coffin. But it can't be our boat – it's far too small. The others have seen the boat too and run up to it. "What's this?" they all ask at once. "What are we supposed to do with it? We might as well swim."
"Shut your mouths," growls one of the smugglers and waves a torch over the boat, revealing gaps in the black tar paint. "Just how dumb are you?"
"This boat will take you to the big boat out there on the water!" calls Jasin, the Libyan colonel who organised our passage, and points out to sea with his right arm. Perhaps 200 metres offshore, a fishing vessel is bobbing in the water, circled by nocturnal seagulls.
Feverishly, my gaze sweeps back and forth between the fishing boat and the rowing boat on the shore. I feel queasy – now it's getting serious. White foam washes over my feet, the wind ruffles my hair and Awed is standing next to me with hunched shoulders. She has wrapped a blue scarf around her head and crossed her arms firmly over her chest."
You can read the piece in full here.
"The rain gets lighter as we clamber down to the shore, though the wind whistles around our ears and tears at the sparse foliage that clings to the rocks. We can hear the sound of our panting and the roar of the sea. The pale moonlight is reflected on the waves; there's an elongated shape, a dark protrusion, on the shore – a rowing boat, lying upside down on the stones.
I've never seen a boat like this before. It looks like a coffin. But it can't be our boat – it's far too small. The others have seen the boat too and run up to it. "What's this?" they all ask at once. "What are we supposed to do with it? We might as well swim."
"Shut your mouths," growls one of the smugglers and waves a torch over the boat, revealing gaps in the black tar paint. "Just how dumb are you?"
"This boat will take you to the big boat out there on the water!" calls Jasin, the Libyan colonel who organised our passage, and points out to sea with his right arm. Perhaps 200 metres offshore, a fishing vessel is bobbing in the water, circled by nocturnal seagulls.
Feverishly, my gaze sweeps back and forth between the fishing boat and the rowing boat on the shore. I feel queasy – now it's getting serious. White foam washes over my feet, the wind ruffles my hair and Awed is standing next to me with hunched shoulders. She has wrapped a blue scarf around her head and crossed her arms firmly over her chest."
You can read the piece in full here.
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