When the Moon Is Low(51)
Hakan watched with leaden shoulders. He’d kept a respectable distance from Fereiba and the children. They were orphaned and vulnerable, and he did not want to transgress their privacy as he knew the rest of the world would. What they had been subject to and what they would be subject to were beyond his control. All he could do was give them a respite under his roof, which he did because he believed it to be right.
Hakan had taken on a father’s pride when he looked at Saleem. The boy was strong-willed and determined. He was teetering between boyhood and manhood, a dangerous time. He saw the way Saleem looked at his mother, the look of a boy who refuses to believe what he has not learned for himself. Fereiba would struggle with him, Hakan predicted, but Saleem was too devoted to stray far. He wrapped an arm around Saleem’s shoulders and squeezed.
Saleem was taller than he had been when he first met Hakan coming out of prayers so many months ago. He bit his lip, feeling as if he was betraying his father by leaning into Hakan’s paternal gesture. These small moments gave him resilience, though.
“Saleem, your family has a long and difficult journey ahead. God sees all that you’ve done for them and for yourself. I’m sure your father is quite proud of you and the man you are becoming. We will pray for you. Trust with caution and don’t get discouraged.”
Saleem nodded solemnly. Hakan’s words surprised him and made him feel small. He had snuck to the soccer fields when he said he was at the farm. He had smoked cigarettes and pocketed snacks from the street kiosk when the shop owner’s back was turned. He’d resented his baby brother’s needs and even Padar-jan for being so stubborn that he’d kept his family in Afghanistan until it was too late. No one knew these pieces of Saleem. He was cagey, a boy with secrets. He wanted so much to be the person Hakan described.
He looked at Hakan’s face, still discomfited by the inexplicable resemblance to his father’s. He felt the memory of his father fading with each passing day. Some nights, Saleem lay awake, trying to recall Padar-jan’s image, his voice, his smell. With each day, yesterday was pushed into a darker cranny of his mind. With each night, Saleem had to reach deeper into those recesses to find his father. Saleem clung to the images he had, fearful they would fade into a blinding whiteness. This, too, he was ashamed to admit.
Saleem hadn’t bothered to go back to the Polat farm even though he was owed five days’ worth of wages. He knew Polat would refuse to pay him if he wasn’t going to be returning. Ekin, who’d returned to haunt him as if nothing had happened, would find another way to busy her afternoons. With Kamal, Saleem’s farewell was awkward. Their friendship had been based on the lightness of childhood, boyish activities of little consequence. The bloodied wedding and Saleem’s departure brought a weight to their bond that neither boy expected or wanted. Kamal, not bothering to brush the hair from his eyes, quietly wished Saleem a safe journey. Saleem turned his back on his first friend outside of Afghanistan, knowing they would never speak again.
THE WAZIRI FAMILY LEFT INTIKAL ON A BUS HEADED TOWARD Turkey’s west coast, where ports and ships provided easy passage to Greece. They had the Belgian passports Abdul Rahim had secured for them and would not have to rely on smugglers. If these passports got them through customs, they would be well worth the high price Madar-jan had paid for them.
The bus ride was long, bumpy, and quiet. The Waziri family watched Turkey’s verdant landscape go by in silence. They were leaving behind a life they’d come to enjoy, days that passed with the comforting rhythm of a drumbeat. Again, Madar-jan was leading them into an unknown.
It was a day’s journey to Izmir, on Turkey’s western shore. When they neared Izmir’s port, Saleem’s senses were hit with the briny air, a smell unfamiliar to his landlocked nose. He looked at the others. Their eyes shimmered, reflecting the glimmering turquoise waters. The sea, a place where sunlight bounced from here to there, from water to the hull of a ship to the wings of a seagull. Samira smiled, the sun warming her face. Fereiba stroked her daughter’s hair. It was a brief moment of joy, but one that gave them reason to press on.
Saleem found a ticket booth and purchased one-way rides for the entire family. The ticket agent, busy chatting with the agent in the adjacent booth, barely looked at their passports. He waved Saleem off when he inquired about a ticket for Aziz.
Tickets in hand, they turned again to the cerulean expanse and marveled at the enormous ships docked there. Never before had they seen waters bigger than a river.
“Water is roshanee, it is light. To be surrounded by so much of it . . .” Fereiba let the sea air fill her lungs. “This must mean something good for us.”
Her family needed the light of good fortune.
The ticket agent had pointed out a navy blue ferry, a building afloat. Saleem’s stomach leaped with boyish excitement. He led his mother and siblings to the pier to claim their seats. The wind cast a microshower of cool droplets on their cheeks. Samira’s hair flew into her face and she giggled trying to brush it away. Saleem and his mother paused. It had been a lifetime since they’d heard that laughter.
Choppy waves lapped at the boat, and Saleem and Samira leaned over the rails to get that much closer to the ocean. The ride was too short and well before they’d had their fill, the crew announced their arrival in Chios, a Greek island where the Waziri family was to catch yet another ferry to Athens.
Surrounded by tourists in shorts and backpacks and commuting Greeks, Saleem and his family hoisted their bags over their shoulders and tried their best to look inconspicuous. Each leg of their journey had a checkpoint, a place where their pounding heartbeats and falsified documents could give them away.