/NO ADJECTIVE DESCRIBE STORY/
by Clare Azzopardi

/nobody say my story/nobody say/long story very long story/six month long/from Eritrea to Malta/you know Eritrea?/I Barentu/Eritrea/near Sudan Ethiopia/you know Sudan?/you have idea of map?/Red Sea?/we Italian colony/long ago/after English/we fight long time/Ethiopia/independence/I am Adiam/please to meet you/

Picture it: Baħar iċ-Ċagħak at two in the morning. More accurately: White Rocks at two in the morning. February. A temperature of 10 degrees Celsius and a calm sea. A dark blue van without a license plate appears, moving slowly with its headlamps off. The engine dies as it reaches the waterline. A man emerges. The other one remains seated behind the steering wheel. Her uncle. The man who gets out of the van is Rachel�s uncle. So is the one behind the steering wheel. He lights a cigarette and opens the back door of the van. A number of people, their covered heads bowed, climb out. The door clicks shut behind them. The van splutters into life, reverses and drives off, leaving behind only the smell of Rothies mingling with the calm sea air and the exhaust fumes. It�s cold. Nine people waiting for something to happen. Nine women in warm wraps. Rachel can see them, though they can�t see her. Grabbing her mobile phone, she dials a number and hangs up after a single ring. And waits. So are they, waiting.

Now picture Ġorġ, pushing forty with a beer belly, sitting in a new speedboat with no name or license plate, in Crystal Bay, Comino. He has a smile on his face, money in his pocket, and a mobile phone which he clutches tightly, waiting for it to emit a single, brief signal. It rings once. Replacing its simcard with his own, he starts the engine. He puts the radio on at low volume, and begins to sing the first song he hears on 104.7 ... like a virgin, hey...

And then she hears a sound coming from across the water. Something moving. She prizes her mobile open, removes the simcard and twists it out of shape, replacing it with her own. Those were the orders. It�s almost reached the shore, coming closer and closer. It�s what they�re waiting for. Dad�s speedboat. Rachel�s dad.

He killed the engine. He knew this part of the coast like the back of his hand, knew where he could stop and moor the boat safely.

A flash from his torch and they know they can go aboard. They�re getting on board now, all nine of them. She watches as they huddle together in the boat. He starts the engine again. Gradually, they move out. Nobody�s seen them except for her. They won�t get caught. Our father who art in heaven hallowed be they name thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven ... Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee ... Our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name ... Hail Mary full of grace ... ... They�re out of sight. She began to pray as soon as the boat moved away from the shore. Then she too gunned the engine and left. That was the last time she saw Adiam.

Rachel�s 18 now, but when I got to know her she�d just started her fifth. She was a thin girl, with a long, straight sheet of black hair and pale white skin. I used to see her practically every day, but we don�t meet so much anymore. Sometimes, though, we get together for a coffee or to watch a good film. I was seeing her father at the time � well, sort of anyway � it lasted a whole year, until he got tired of me and I got sick of him. But I�d grown to love Rachel by then. In fact, I still do. Some time ago, I got a text from her saying she was about to leave the country and wanted to meet me one last time. There was something she wanted to tell me. So we met in Valletta, in the usual place. Sweets Cafe` is an unpretentious little nook in Ta� Liesse, where you can smoke a pack of cigarettes in peace while looking at Fort St. Angelo across the bay.

-- That�s brave of you.

-- Fuck that! I�ve all but run out of names to call the old man. Told him I�d get him arrested. Still, he�s got his mind at rest �cause he knows I haven�t the balls.

-- Look, maybe it�s better if I heard no more of this.

-- But I�ve got to get this out of my system. It�s like I�ve got this lump in my throat. You�re the only person I can tell about it, aren�t you?

-- Right. Sorry love. Go on.

-- And then again, you even know Adiam.

-- What about Adiam, where is she now?

-- She wrote to me a while ago and asked after you. Had to tell you, like.

-- Well, I knew she intended to leave, but I never imagined she�d do it like this!

-- Who told you anyway?

-- Well, I sort of put two and two together.

-- And how did you think she�d get out of here, then? Swimming, like?

-- Hadn�t she been granted refugee status?

-- Bullshit. Status? �Course not. The fucking status was a long time coming and she�d had it, like, up to here.

-- Well, I�m beginning to see. I must say, though, nothing seems to scare your dad.

-- The motherfucker! If my mother was still around, she�d cut his fucking throat.

-- So how much does he make out of this?

-- A hell of a lot, Ruth. And don�t imagine he�d be doing this if it wasn�t for, like, cash.

-- Well, I don�t give much of a damn about your father to be honest, but I do worry about you. You�re still so young, Rachel.

-- Right. Well, I�ve had enough now. Buggering off to Manchester to live with mum. I can�t live with that man anymore. It�ll just keep happening while I�m around. That�s why I�m leaving. Saturday. Mum�s expecting me.

-- Have you told him about this?

-- Fuck, no. The son of a bitch�d just screw up all my plans for me.

-- He could still find out, couldn�t he?

-- Fat chance. I�m not even carrying any luggage with me. Just a handbag. �S all I need, like.

1. When day broke they could not make out the land; but they noticed a bay with a beach�

/three days/we think Italy/Malta/I brother and sister/other brother Italy/big brother/don�t know where/Malta don�t know Malta/from Libya/three days/September/morning/about 50/maybe/not sure/small boat/very small/no adjective describe story/from Libya/Surt/Malta happy no die/three days/long story/difficult to say/happy now/Malta nice people/

I can still picture Adiam clearly. I still remember the first time I met her, at Gorġ�s � he had this old, sooty place in Gżira. A house in Triq Moroni, where every available surface was covered by a thin film of cat hair. She was sitting on the sofa with her head bowed, twirling her hair into beautiful plaits. The television was on. I�m Ruth, I said. But she said nothing. Not a single word. Instead, she seemed to lower her head even further. I sat beside her, glancing sidelong at her while I zapped to find something interesting on the telly. She was dark and beautiful, with perfect features, full lips, big dark eyes and a small flat nose. Plaits that hung halfway down her back. A bit of flab around the thighs. After a while, I heard a low, barely audible murmur: Adiam. Please to meet you.

/the school nice school/Malta nice/St. Julian�s/Valletta nice/I never school/Eritrea war/don�t always like/I happy but I leave/happy/Maltese no like klandestini/klandestini say/yes?/I happy/Maltese friendly/good with me/we afraid/my country war/long time war/don�t say my story/no please/if government knows I problem/many problem/

So I�m the storyteller. Rachel�s father�s ex. Mind you, Rachel�s like a daughter to me. On October the 24th, through the misfortune that befalls every woman who meets Ġorġ, I smiled my first greeting to Adiam, who went to the same school as Rachel and sat in the same classroom.

She�d set eyes on the island for the first time in August of the previous year. She�d disembarked in Grand Harbour. Hadn�t even known it existed, this rock that even the weeds and lizards want to disown.

-- Please to meet you. Rachel. Please to meet you. �S what she said. Jiena Adiam.

-- So she knew a bit of Maltese then?

-- Well, a tiny bit, considering ... she�d been here a while by then.

-- How long had she been here for?

-- Well, she spent about a year in Ħal Far, then they were given a flat. Or something. Never really understood what that was all about. They�d lived in this flat for a couple months at least.

-- And then you met at school.

-- Right. Got talking after about three weeks. First thing she said was she didn�t know Malta at all.

-- Not surprised.

-- Yeah, well, someone or other�d dropped the name in Libya, but she couldn�t really figure out what it was.

-- Not much to figure out is there?

-- She came with her brother and sister.

-- But it was only she and her sister that got away? I thought you said it was just women, right?

-- Yep, women only.

-- So her brother must�ve already gotten away?

-- Not exactly.

-- Are you still in contact with him?

-- Nope.

So Rachel and Adiam became friends. Maybe that happened because they both had a rather difficult story to tell. Adiam�s mother had forced her to make a getaway to find a better life. As for her father, she didn�t even know where he was buried. Rachel�s mother had run off to England and left Rachel all alone. Ġorġ? A building contractor. Brusque, bold and brash. Thinks he�s god�s gift to just about everything. One time I was trying to give Rachel a hand with her homework, and he goes ħanini, don�t bother with this one ta�. She�s as thick as her mother, that qaħba. No way she�s getting anywhere.

Ġorġ is like that, seeing the true value of someone like Rachel is beyond him. I myself don�t know what hit me when I started seeing the guy. I suppose the chest hair might have had something to do with it. Or that little waxed moustache.

2. After our escape we learned that the island was called Malta.

She was taken with everything Maltese. She liked to ask me questions about the country, and we�d talk, every time I was at Rachel�s and Ġorġ was away. She�d tell me about Eritrea. I�d tell her about Malta.

/we leave Surt/to Italy/September/very calm/first night calm sea/then big wave/very big/many rain and wave/two day only wave and rain and wind/many wind/the eyes see people in sea/my eyes see this/shout/people cry/difficult explain sea/brother try help/difficult help/wind and rain and wind/from Surt/one night very calm/sing/think Italy/Eritrea/Ethiopia/Sierra Leone/maybe/from Barentu only me and sister and brother/two nights difficult/we think we die/like many people/morning after/country/we see country/very happy we think Italy/no Italy/we hear before Malta/from Surt/but we go Italy/near brother/other brother of me/no Malta/we see Malta/we happy/we no die/

3. �they kindled a fire and refreshed us all because of the rain that had set in, and the cold.

-- It�s pretty fucking serious. The state of things in Ħal Far�s unbelievable.

-- Yes, Adiam did mention it sometimes.

-- Food�s crap. They�re practically sleeping on top of each other.

-- Well, Rachel, what do you expect? I mean, we couldn�t put them up in an expensive hotel could we?

-- Well no. But a prison doesn�t exactly do them much good either.

-- Yes, but wait a minute. All they seem to do is tear the place to bits.

-- �Course they fucking do. I�d do that myself if they locked me up.

-- I can just about picture the headlines the next day... DEVASTATION IN RACHEL�S WAKE: BROKEN WINDOW, DOOR, TOILET, GLASS, PLATE

-- Ha very ha. You better give it a rest. I seem to remember when dad got on your nerves, you chucked the lampshade at him.

-- Erm, right.

-- Listen to this, then. So one time we were stood next to the tuckshop at school. You know what the others are like. They started with the usual taunts... Whoah, so Rachel�s two-timing us with the nigger now is she? I was, like, a nigger�s worth two of you, white arsehole. She was, like, white and an eyeful, imma. And a good lay. You�d have to grope around to even find that one in the dark! And they were laughing all the while. Yeuch! I couldn�t stand them anymore by that time. They always had something on the tip of their tongue, you know, something nasty to say. Anyway, so we get back to class, and Adiam just grabbed her chair and threw it at Mandy�s head. Don�t blame her either. I could�ve killed them myself that time.

/one year two month/in Malta/one year barracks/Ħal Far/you know barracks?/now flat/me and Sania/Sania my sister/flat ok/like/barracks difficult/no big/difficult to explain barracks/no tell this/because government/I sleep a lot in barracks/many bed/bed/bed/bed/difficult barracks/food don�t know food/Malta happy now/no ok in barracks/barracks my brother/no brother/because of barracks/one year long/very long/me have no papers/klandestini say/yes?/my country there is war/barracks/Eritrea and Ethiopia/no nice/difficult to explain barracks/no adjective/Me and Sania happy now/Malta friendly people/

There were about fifty of them in each room. In cells where you choked in the stifling heat, and the cold seeped into your bones and numbed your brain. They had zinc roofs that rattled in the wind, as if to remind them constantly of the sort of windswept place they�d landed on, a Malta walled in with metal and rust.

The men smoked and the food was bad. She�d never eaten anything like it before. Maltese food and Maltese soldiers, two of a kind: stiff, cold, unseasoned. Tasteless. And it was always the same. Pasta with tomato sauce, chicken and chips. Ever tried pasta and chips? Neither have I. You could find quite a hodge podge in those cells in Ħal Far. Eritreans and Ethiopians, for instance. The biggest enemies shared a cell on St Paul�s island, lying end to end on this most Christian of rocks. Adiam would spend most of her time in a drugged sleep. Everyone looked the same in those cells and that was Malta�s first gift to her. Forget Badme and Barentu and Gonder and Desē. All you�ve got is a smear of red pasta with a few chips and a bit of chicken. And the cigarette smoke that stifles shouts of rage and desiccates tears. And a generous supply of pills. But one day she woke up with a start. And witnessed what most fifteen-year old girls never get to see. And though her mother was far away, she could still hear her sobbing, knew she knew exactly what had happened.

-- That time she screamed so loud I thought she�d shatter the windowpanes.

-- She told me once that she hadn�t spoken for a whole month.

-- After that, sure, who would?

-- After what?

-- After she saw her brother.

-- I thought you said he�d left!

-- Left? No way. Her brother hanged himself, Ruth.

(Silence)

-- Hanged himself in that fucking room.

(Silence)

-- She�d just woken up. She used to knock herself out in there. She was pretty heavy on the pills. And that�s what she woke up to see: her brother.

-- She had to wake up that day of all days.

(Silence)

-- She wouldn�t sleep much again after that.

4. And so it came to pass that all got safely to land.

I remember the evening news that day. Malta has welcomed sixty klandestini to its shores, of whom twenty are women and children. They reached the shore in a boat about sixty feet long. Later in the day, another boatful of klandestini was sighted, but was allowed to proceed towards Sicily.

Adiam had had a long trip. When her father died, their mother told them to get away, to go and find their oldest brother in Italy. They were scraping together a living on the little their big brother managed to send them. So they decided to go, leaving their mother behind with their little sister. Maybe they�d meet again in the future. I suppose the future�s arrived by now, and they haven�t been reunited as far as I know. They left from Barentu one early morning. Even Barentu was under fire by then. From Badme. I had a friend who lived in Badme, she told me once. Her corpse was discovered by her grandmother. Her baby brother and her doll were buried underneath her. The doll�s head was bleeding. You couldn�t leave at night, too dangerous. They took nothing with them. From Barentu to Teseney. Adiam, Sania and Samuel. And then from Teseney to Kassalā in Sudan and then through Ad Damir, Kuraymah, Dunqulah. And then across the desert. From Al� Uwaynāt in Libya to Al Jawf. And then across the desert. Finally, they got to Surt. And the sea.

And then more sea.

And then Malta.

5. And the natives showed us no little kindness�

-- Know what the old man said once? He said: it�s such a nice word isn�t it. Klandestini. Klan-des-ti-ni. They don�t even deserve the name, the dirty rats. I�d happily drown them all.

-- The bastard.

-- Just picture it, my dear girl, you and me, living in a nice little place like this, is what he said. And then one day they turn up, this bunch of down and outs, these klandestini, and they say: / today on we live with you / we no home / my country war / please to meet you. What�d we do then?

-- So what did you say?

-- What the fuck could I say?

-- You mean you just sat there and said nothing?

-- Oh come on, you know the old git as well as I do. Nothing would get through that thick skull of his. I�ve learnt to just let him prattle on.

-- How come he never had any objections to Adiam?

-- Truth is, he�s such a numskull, he never really cottoned on. Never dreamed that Adiam was actually a klandestina.

Medical check-up first. Then they tied a little ribbon around her wrist, bearing her new name. They�d christened her Eve. Then they took a picture. Naturally, Adiam had no idea what this was all about, couldn�t understand a word of what was said, and hadn�t a clue as to what was to become of her. They asked for her papers, which she didn�t have. Neither did her brother or sister. And then straight to the detention centre. The one with the zinc roofs and the plastic toilets that wobbled, the sort of piss-sodden things you get in open-air festas in Summer.

-- I almost wet myself with fear each time it happens.

-- How many times has it happened, Rach?

-- Three times so far. My dad needs a signal before he can leave his hideout.

-- And it�s strictly a family business.

-- Absolutely. Outsiders are too much of a risk.

-- So why did you never try to stop him?

-- Fuck that! That�s, like, pretty useless isn�t it? Then again... ħeqq it�s not that easy to refuse the cash, know what I mean? I need the money too, Ruth. And let�s face it, there�s also the rush, you know, the excitement.

(Silence)

-- I think it�s a good thing you�re leaving.

-- Guess so.

-- Tell me something though. How did you manage to keep in touch after you left school?

-- Well, there was this time, see, �bout four months after school�d broken up. I found her sitting on the pavement just outside the house. She knew exactly where I lived, she�d dropped in a few times when we were still at school. That was it, like. I invited her in. She said she couldn�t find a job and her sister wasn�t making enough to keep them afloat. So I found her a job, somehow, in the hotel where I worked. You remember the one, Hotel Lella in Sliema ... Nothing much, like, just a chambermaid. After that she began to drop in quite often. I hardly ever saw her sister though, and that flat they had -- or room, whatever it was -- I never really figured out where it was exactly. Within a few months, they�d made enough money to get away.

6. ...though he has escaped the sea, Justice does not let him live.

It was a horrible, protracted war. From Asmara, Massawa, Keren, until it even reached Barentu. And the trip was just as horrifying.

/from Barentu to Teseney/very difficult to explain/very long to Libya/hot in desert/cannot tell story/no adjective/for desert/for people/in camp/for money/for live/for eat/no word/long to tell story/I have six month/difficult for me and sister and brother/and mother we know cry/we hear cry of sister in Sudan/walk walk walk long days in Sudan/hot/many wind/camp/to Surt/we pay money/we work Libya/to pay money for Italy/then we hear Malta/then we see Malta/from sea/no no Malta/but we come Malta/we stay Malta/safe nice Malta/

It�s safe enough with Ġorġ too. Unless he loses it and chucks a shoe in your general direction. I didn�t knock him out cold with that lampshade I threw at him, which is kind of a pity now that I think about it. Ever thrown a lampshade at your man? Mind you, the fact that Ġorġ came away unharmed once or twice doesn�t mean he�ll always get away with it.

7. He ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land�

They were all good swimmers. That was the condition laid down by Rachel�s father. He�d drift off the coast of Sicily and let them swim ashore to Pozzallo. That way he wouldn�t risk getting caught. From Baħar iċ-Ċagħak to Pozzallo. The other thing he insisted on was secrecy. He had a deal, as long as they could get away.

No idea what happened after Pozzallo, though I�m pretty sure that, as he approached the Maltese coast on his way back, Ġorġ put his hand in his pocket and fingered the cash. Note by note. With a smile.

*******************************

Marisa and I have been friends since secondary school. We were known as it-tapp u l-flixkun, the bottle and its top. She�s six foot three, and I�m a paltry five-four. She�s a police inspector now. Weighs in at 75, the unmarried mother of a little boy. Short brown hair. She reads her son fairy tales to put him to sleep, and likes to go to bed herself with one of her pop novels. Marisa doesn�t give a damn about anything. I imagine she undertakes her work with a strong sense of duty � I mean both as a mother and as a police inspector. I love Marisa to bits. Maybe that�s just because we�ve known each other for so long. Maybe it�s because she likes French cinema. Or maybe it�s because she�s capabe of taking the piss out of any man, which scares them shitless every time. Or it could be because she likes to tell these offbeat narratives. Once she even told me Adiam�s story over a glass of Rioja at her place.

--She�s left. You know that, don�t you?

--Who?

--Adiam.

--Oh, her. Really?

-- Well, they got lucky, those two girls.

-- How come, Mar?

-- Well, they got lucky, is all. I�d kept an eye open on those two from day one, since they got here. They disembarked at Grand Harbour. There was her sister too. All the while she was holding on to her sister for dear life. I was there even when they were interrogated. No papers. And then I used to speak to them often during the months they spent in Ħal Far. That�s kind of unusual, you normally can�t talk to these folks, bunch of savages, the lot of them, make you feel they should be shot. But Adiam and her sister were the quiet sort, always smiling, intelligent, clean, soft-spoken. That�s why they got out so quickly.

-- Any idea where they are now?

-- In America. I think they eventually joined their father and brother over there. I�m not sure whether their mother�s alive or not, they never mentioned her.

-- Well, that�s good news anyway. I�ll tell Rachel about it.

-- I�d have thought she�d be the first to tell you.

-- About America you mean?

-- Yeah.

-- Nope. She did tell me about her brother though.

-- About who?

-- Adiam�s brother.

-- The one in the States?

-- Don�t let�s play dumb, Mar.

-- What the hell are you talking about?

-- Oh come on, it�s not as if you didn�t know about her brother.

-- You mean the one who lives in the States, right?

-- No. I mean the one who came to Malta with Adiam and her sister, and got off the boat with them at Grand Harbour.

-- What are you on about? It was just the two of them, the sisters.

-- Hmm�

-- No, seriously�

-- So Rachel �

-- � just arrived at the facts by a different route.

-- Not unlike her daddy. His routes tend to be pretty wayward.

(Silence)

-- Anyhow, it didn�t take them long before they were granted status.

-- What status?

-- Refugee status.

-- Oh, really?

-- Sure. Could�ve stayed here really. The elder sister had got herself a decent job. But they wanted to go, and that�s what they did.

-- I don�t blame them.

-- I can assure you they had plenty of support here in Malta.

-- No doubt about that.

**********************************

8. ...they changed their minds and said that he was a god.

-- I used to get along with Adiam. I think we�re sort of the same type. Don�t think I�ve had another friend like her, like. Not that I�ve ever had any real friends. They always thought I was weird, so no one would stick around. Adiam was like me. I think she could�ve stayed over, lived at my place, she�d�ve been happy then. She was quite happy actually, but when she told me she�d scraped together the cash to get away, I understood. I was like, istja, wish I had that kind of guts. She said: /you/aswell/you go find your mum/.

-- What about the letter, Rachel?

-- Got it right here.

-- How is she?

-- Doing all right.

-- Good. At least she didn�t take all that risk for nothing.

-- No, guess not. Mind you, she couldn�t have stayed here. Eurgh!

-- Maybe if she�d stayed, she would have got refugee status and could have left without all that tribulation. Don�t you think so?

-- Boqq! Nah, what status? Those guys didn�t bloody care.

-- Are you going to read me that letter? I�m getting curious.

-- Sure, here goes. It�s short, like.

Napoli

03-03-2003

My dear Rachel.

You my friend. Please to meet you. I hug brother last week from 4 years. I get know I am aunt. And orphan. Sania is with me too. She gets know she is widow. I try start new life. Thank you your father from me and Sania and brother. I still shout at night. Remember? I see brother. I hear mother. And friend of me with doll. You my only friend in Malta. And Ruth. I like Ruth. Please to meet her. Say it. This my letter to Malta. I never see it again. Only the barracks I dream. Cruel barracks. You my only friend. Maybe see you in future. You and Mum. Who know? I thank you. You and father.

Good bye.

Adiam.

� Clare Azzopardi
Reproduced with permission

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