The Lost Children of Nukala

A Short Story

The ferry swayed in the dark blue waters as if hesitant to assert its right to be there.

“Are you sure that the papers are in order?” a nervous-looking man asked his compatriot, stationed at the deck with binoculars.

“I just spent an hour explaining to our man up there why we are completely within our legal rights,” the binoculared man said, pointing to the wheelhouse.

“Do you mean the captain has his doubts?” the nervous man asked.

“I have no doubts,” the binoculared man spoke with conviction. He removed the binoculars from his face for the first time since they boarded the boat. “This is it,” he said, pumping his index finger into the salty oceanic air.

The nervous man looked ahead to where the man pointed. Nothing was visible. It was all one dark blue expanse. It was not even a moonlit night.

The nervous man sighed and sank down to his knees without warning.

“I’d rather be prepared if you are sure,” he said to the binoculared man, who merely waved in response.

The nervous man recalled the frenetic activities of the last few weeks. It all started with a phone call from his friend, who was now grappling with seasickness, a level below him.

“I found a compatriot,” his friend had whispered.

“So?” the man had asked.

“He knows where it is,” the friend replied calmly.

The nervous man had disconnected the call to absorb what he had just heard. A fellow citizen from his beloved island country knew where to find it in the ocean’s vastness.

That fellow citizen was the binoculared man who carried the same confidence for the next three weeks as he organized a digital meet of all the ‘lost children’ of Nukala.

“We are nearly there,” the man announced from behind his binoculars.

The friend staggered up onto the deck as if on cue. He looked suitably mortified for pulling his nervous friend along for the ride. The ocean proved to be unforgiving.

“You seemed to have tolerated well,” he said as he flopped beside his reluctant friend.

“Does he know what he is doing?” he asked another question, pointing at the pair of binoculars perched atop the hulk of a man.

The kneeling man nodded. “It sure seems so.”

He looked at his friend with a nervous smile. “I want to be ready when the time comes.”

“You mother’s last wish?” his friend asked.

The nervous man took out a small urn from his knapsack in response. “She didn’t want anything else in her life except to return to her favourite island.”