O, mio fanciullo, vedrai,
Vai, vedrai che un sorriso
Nasconde spess' un gran' dolore.
Vai, vedrai follia del uomo.*
-from Cirque du Soleil's Alegria, Vai Vedrai
Despite the whipping rain that drove as many of the passengers as would fit down to the lower deck and out of the weather, Fahrid Moussa gripped the rusted railing more tightly, and sized up the distance to the island suggested by the horizon he could faintly see in the fading daylight off the portside bow. Lampedusa, if he'd kept his bearings. He glanced at François, who had been his best friend ever since they met as young boys years ago. His look was returned, with the added glint of a grim and complicit smile. They were both young and fit, in a wiry sort of way, and they could make it, Fahrid thought, although the heavy sea would not provide for an easy swim. But better that than to go down with the ship. And go down was something he felt almost certain it would do. The small vessel pitched and groaned as the waves battered her; she had never been fit for such a journey, and now, after how many years of abuse? And so terribly overcrowded . . . Fahrid had given up counting but he was certain there were more than 400 others aboard the former fishing vessel, impressed into service in human trafficking and illegal immigration. The air belowdecks was rank with desperation, sweat, vomit, and human waste, as the trawler lurched slowly toward the Croatian coast from Tunisia. With one hand, Fahrid fingered the pendant his sister had given him before he had left home—a golden hand with a blue eye at its palm—seeking to ward off bad luck, and nonetheless fearing for the worst.
*Oh, my child, see,
Go, see that a smile
Often hides a great sorrow.
Go, see the insanity of Man.
