The Lost Sailors by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis

shipwreck that hadn’t been the work of nature but human greed. It had happened twenty years ago.
    He was only a first mate in those days. On the
Cygnus
, an oil tanker sailing under a Liberian flag. The international embargo was still in force against South Africa, and the country was desperately short of oil. The
Cygnus
, full to bursting with Iranian crude, had unloaded its cargo at Port Elizabeth during the night. Then they’d filled their tanks with water and had set off again, via the Cape of Good Hope. There, they’d waited for a wind, a swell, the slightest hint of a storm.
    On the sixth day, they got what the captain wanted. The ship was rolling six degrees. Not much for a ship like that. The
Cygnus
was an oceangoing vessel, built to withstand bad weather. The captain ordered them to sail with the hatches open, then, at daybreak, to open the floodgates. The crew members were told to pack their bags. Distress signals were sent off. The lifeboats were lowered, and they all got into them.
    The
Cygnus
sank majestically. Almost reluctantly. “A pity.” That was the only comment the captain allowed himself. They didn’t drift for long. Three ships were heading in their direction. They hadn’t even waited for the SOS. The exact position of the
Cygnus
had been communicated to them hour by hour. All three were sailing under Liberian flags. On behalf of the Tex Oil fleet, as Abdul had learned later. They were picked up as heroes. Apart from the ship’s boy, a twenty-year-old named Lucio. It was his first voyage. He had panicked and ended up in the water. The winds had pushed the lifeboats in the opposite direction, and no one could save him.
    It was the insurance company that had put the ball in Abdul’s court. All he had to do was back up the captain’s testimony about the shipwreck. He would get a big bonus, and promotion. There were also bonuses for the rest of the crew. For some—he discovered later—it was the third ship they’d been on that had sunk.
    â€œIf I refused, I’d be outlawed by the merchant-navy community worldwide. Everyone seemed to know that kind of thing went on.”
    â€œBut how did you explain that there was no oil slick, nothing?”
    â€œIt didn’t matter. The insurance company was in on the scam. No one would have listened to me. And I’ll tell you something, Diamantis, the insurance didn’t just pay for the boat, but also the whole of the cargo of Iranian crude!”
    â€œSo you signed?” Diamantis asked, but not in any nasty way.
    â€œI threw up, then I signed, then I threw up again. I threw up every day, for more than a month. Every evening, I’d feel nauseous.”
    He looked at Diamantis in despair. He was still sickened by this business, even now.
    â€œThe bonus helped Cephea and me to settle in Dakar. Quite comfortably, too. I’d have had to work ten years to get to that point. And you know how hard it is to save money.”
    â€œAnd you became a captain.”
    â€œYes, I became a captain. Under the same flag, for the same fleet, Tex Oil. Then, as soon as I could, I quit.”
    Diamantis recalled that the first time he had sailed under Abdul’s command, one of the crew—the chief engineer—had said to him, “He’s a good captain. He’s very experienced at maneuvers. He treats the crew well, and he doesn’t wet his pants when he has to deal with the owner.” Since that fake shipwreck, he had learned to stand up for himself. He wasn’t the kind of person who’d agree to sink a boat now. He’d never abandon ship. If necessary, he’d stay on it and rot, the way he was doing now in Marseilles.
    â€œI’ll tell you something else, Diamantis, nothing I’ve done since has wiped out the shame of it. The dirty money I pocketed, my promotion, all that. There comes a time when you have to pay for the bad things you’ve done in your