Chapter 1
The Tragedy of Separation
The rain fell soft and relentless from a lead-colored sky. The air tasted of sharp salt and rust.
About thirty people moved in a ragged line along the shore. Men and women, children, young and old. Exhaustion was etched into their faces; a heavy shadow of fear gleamed in their eyes.
The father pulled his daughter through the crowd. A heavy backpack on his shoulder, bags in both hands. The girl was seven years old, tired and dazed from the long road behind them and the road still ahead. Her small, cold fingers wrapped in her father’s palm were her only comfort.
A few steps ahead, the mother held an infant in her arms. Her steps were unsteady. Her foot slipped on the wet sand and she fell to her knees. The baby cried out—a cry that shattered the feverish silence of the shore.
One of the smugglers turned. His face was hidden in shadow, but his voice was sharp and harsh:
— “Shut it up!”
Husband and wife, terrified, looked at each other. The father turned toward his wife. As his hand went under the mother’s arm, he let go of the girl’s hand.
He bent down, lifted the mother. The baby was still crying. The crowd pressed from behind. The smell of diesel and fear filled the air.
— “Quiet the kid, hurry up!”
The father glanced back quickly. His daughter was there, a few steps away, with wide, frightened eyes. He nodded—a quick gesture: come.
Then he turned and pushed his wife toward the boat.
But the girl didn’t move.
Her feet had sunk into the wet sand. Her mouth half-open. She wanted to go forward, but her body was frozen. The smugglers, the crowd, the noise—everything had paralyzed her.
The crowd behind her surged toward the boat. Bodies pushed her aside. No one saw her. No one noticed.
She wanted to call out, but her throat was closed. Just a choked breath, a whisper:
— “Baba...”
The wind took her voice.
The father got his wife and infant to the edge of the boat. Other hands pulled them up. He took a breath, ran a hand over his face to clear the rain.
Then he turned to take his daughter’s hand.
His hand was empty.
His heart stopped.
His head spun. His eyes searched the crowd. Darkness. Rain. Moving shadows.
— “My daughter?”
His voice trembled. Again, louder:
— “Where’s my daughter?!”
The people behind him pushed him toward the boat. His body was moved. Hands shoved him.
— “Get on! Hurry up!”
He tried to turn back, but the surge of people drove him forward. His feet left the ground. They pulled him up.
— “No! Wait! My child...”
One of the smugglers shouted from the deck:
— “Release the ropes! Police are coming!”
The engine roared.
The father threw himself to the edge of the boat. His hand gripped the plank. His gaze searched the shore.
There, among the shadows, a small figure stood.
— “She’s there! She’s there!”
He tried to jump. Two hands grabbed him from behind, pulled him back.
— “Let me go! My child is there!”
The mother, holding the crying infant, lifted her head. Her gaze went to her husband, then to the shore. Her eyes searched the darkness for something.
Then she saw.
A small figure, alone, by the water.
Her voice was a scream:
— “My daughter! My God... my daughter!”
The boat lurched. Waves pounded the hull. The engine swallowed her voice.
The father turned to the smuggler—a man with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth:
— “We have to go back!”
The man didn’t even look at him:
— “Can’t.”
The father grabbed his collar, pulled him close:
— “She’s a child! Please...”
The answer was a hard punch to his face. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He was thrown back, fell onto the wet planks.
Two other smugglers grabbed him by the arms, held him. He struggled. Kicked. Screamed:
— “Let me go! I swear let me go!”
The mother rose from her seat. She handed the infant to a woman beside her and ran to the edge of the boat:
— “My daughter! I’ll go get her!”
Someone grabbed her too. Her voice turned to pleading:
— “Let me go... please... let me go...”
The boat was pulling away. Father and mother clung to the edge, their hands stretched toward the shore. Their voices broke in the wind:
— “My daughter!”
— “Mama’s coming back! Wait!”
— “We’re coming back!”
But the boat moved farther away with each moment.
The girl was still standing there.
She saw her father turn toward the boat. Saw him climb up. Heard him calling her—a broken voice, distant, like a voice from the bottom of a well.
This time she could move. One step. Then another. She raised her hand:
— “Baba!”
Her voice was louder than before, but the chaos swallowed it.
Her feet sank deeper into the sand. Water reached her knees. It was cold. The smell of diesel stung her nose. The sound of the engine pounded in her ears.
She ran, but the boat was faster.
From the distance, sirens could be heard. Lights burned in the fog.
She stopped. The water had risen to her thighs. Her hands were still raised, as if waiting for a hand to take them.
But the boat slipped into shadow. The voices faded. Only the sound of waves remained.
She didn’t know why they left. She didn’t know why they abandoned her. She only knew it was cold. And she was alone.
Slowly she turned. Her steps were small and trembling. She came out of the water. Sand stuck to her shoes.
Nearby, an overturned boat lay. She went to it, fell to her knees, hid behind it.
The wind carried away words she didn’t know how to say. Rain hit her face, but she didn’t feel it anymore.
Her body was shaking. The cold had penetrated her bones. But her eyes were open. Waiting.
Maybe her mother would come back.
Maybe.
Hours passed—or maybe just long minutes. Time had no meaning for her.
The rain gradually calmed. The sirens faded, then went silent. The sounds faded one by one until only the sound of waves remained.
The girl sat by the overturned boat. Her head resting on her knees. Her wet hair stuck to her forehead. Her clothes heavy with water.
She was no longer waiting. She was just there. Numb. Tired.
The darkness was heavy, but the edges of the horizon were beginning to take color. Morning was coming—slowly, mercilessly.
Her eyelids grew heavy. Her body gradually went numb. Finally, her head fell to the side.
And there, in the place where she first breathed the scent of loneliness, sleep took her.
