Father’s hope of son’s return dims

By ALEXANDER NARA
THE father of one of the victims of the sinking of the mv Rabaul Queen is still waiting for word from Starships Ltd and its owner Peter Sharp.
He described his missing son David with a faraway look in his eyes towards where David used to come home every afternoon after work as a fuel boy at Haella Oil Palm compound.
He quietly said David’s name under his breath and then something in his mother tongue.
I later found out that Old James Saap simply said: “David! Bai mi kam klostu long bungim yu (I will be coming soon to meet you)”.
The usual afternoon light rain had stopped and the yellowish-red setting sun sinking behind the oil palm trees cast its final rays on the spread-out old green canvas tied to the roof of the low cemented brick-walled company house.
An old, sad-looking woman emerged from the dimly-lit canvas hat and headed towards the chopped firewood neatly piled alongside the brick building.
Grey smoke from the cooking area somewhere within the outer layout kitchen steamed out of the chimney above, as well as from the sides through open ends of the canvas.
It is evident that dinner, probably a simple family meal of sweet potato, fresh greens and mushroom, would be quite late that evening.
It would be one of those many dinners where young David’s plate would be left untouched or pushed to the back of the cupboard because he is yet to come home.
David is among the 200 people still missing from the country’s worst maritime disaster.
According to a survivor and friend of David, he was totally weak from vomiting throughout the agonising night caused by the rough seas and went down into the cabins earlier that night to find a place to rest. He was still weak and asleep when the ferry sank.
The tied canvas that was usually packed with grieving families, relatives and friends since that February morning has begun to grow empty as days went by.
Many simply stopped coming and others may have other commitments but David’s parents and relatives have painfully realised they must learn to accept that David is not coming home.
Saap, David’s father, stared at me when I walked into the smoky canvas that afternoon with a “did you-bring-some-good-news” look.
The sad, half smile on his face still could not wipe out the weary and tired wrinkles around his eyes that indicated the many sleepless nights since the disaster.