Page 74 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
She could still feel the cold metal of the container floor beneath her as she crouched, clutching her little sister to her chest.
They had been told to hide there, inside a refrigerated lorry parked at the port in Calais.
She was nine, and already carrying the weight of two lives.
She remembered how the traffickers had whispered that lifejackets would be useless in the sea, so they hadn't been given any.
Before slipping into the dinghy, Aria had tucked something precious into her underwear- their mother's pearl necklace and her gleaming gold bangle. The pearls pressed cold against her hip, the bangle dug into her skin sometimes, a reminder of home and of Mami's last hug. She'd felt them every so often as the boat lurched-the soft prickle of pearls, the hard ring of gold. It was uncomfortable, but necessary.
When the engine roared to life, Aria pressed her back against the lorry wall, praying the driver wouldn't see them. Every bump in the road felt like it might give them away. Her sister, only four, shivered in her arms and whispered, "Where are we, Motra?" Aria hummed an old lullaby she'd learned back home, hoping it would calm her.
When the lorry finally stopped, they spilled out into the damp dawn light beneath the white cliffs. The air was thick with fog and sea spray. It was her sister's birthday-she'd hugged Aria that morning with tears in her eyes and whispered, "It's my birthday, Motra..." But there was no byrek, no song, not even a wish...only the roar of the waves.
Her sister had looked up at her and said, "I want byrek."
Aria had swallowed hard and promised, "When we're safe, I'll bake you the best byrek you've ever tasted."
Two men had helped steer them towards a battered rubber dinghy waiting on the shingle. It sat low in the water, already brimming with other families. Every face was carved with the same fear Aria felt. The channel stretched out before them like a sheet of broken glass-cold, dark, and endless.
They climbed in.
The dinghy stank of petrol and dread. The air around them trembled. Water slapped against the sides, splashing in with every movement. Aria held her sister tighter, whispering, calming, willing her to stay quiet. If they panicked, they'd capsize.
She heard someone pray softly behind her. Someone else vomited overboard. She tasted salt on her chapped lips and heard a baby cry.
She closed her eyes and remembered Mami's face.
Her stomach rumbled so fiercely, she thought it might wake the whole dinghy. They hadn't eaten since leaving Calais the night before, just sips of water snatched between waves. Her sister's belly grumbled, too, and Aria pressed her hand to it to soothe her, but it only made her more aware of her sister's hunger.
She was burning up. When Aria lifted her sister's hair from her forehead, her skin was hot and damp with sweat. Too hot.
Aria tore a scrap of cloth from her shirt, soaked it in sea water, and pressed it to her skin. But every time her sister closed her eyes, Aria feared she'd slip away, just like Babi and Mami had. Her heart pounded with terror.
There was nowhere to go. No privacy, no relief. She remembered spotting a man trying to squat once, but he'd been chased off by one of the traffickers.
She squeezed her legs together until they ached, terrified she might soil herself in front of strangers.
Behind her, a woman whispered prayers.
Ahead, a teenage boy quietly wept.
Aria wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, to pretend none of it was happening. But her sister would look up at her and clutch her arm, so she stayed watchful and endured.
At one point, a man's hand brushed too close to her bottom.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
She was only a child, but she knew danger when it looked at her like that.
She shouted and kicked out.
Another passenger grabbed the man. He stammered something-an apology, maybe-but every word stank of fear. Aria shifted, shielding her sister, looping her arm through hers.
"I've got you," she whispered.
After what seemed like forever, the dinghy scraped against something submerged. A jagged object tore open a seam in the hull. Cold water surged in.
Panic rippled through the boat. People screamed, some began to bail frantically, using empty bottles, cups, anything they could find. Aria's hands joined them, cupping, scooping, tossing water overboard.
