When the Moon Is Low(76)

Should I take this?

After months of laboring for every lira, selling off Madar-jan’s last pieces of jewelry for a few euros, and stealing bread to feed his family, Saleem could see no other possibility. He needed this money and believed he deserved it. He stuffed the wad into his pocket and smoothed his shirt over the lump. With a deep breath, he stepped out of the barn and walked across the yard toward the small road. He did not turn around or stop to see if the Armenian woman was behind him.

He sat in the back of the vehicle and pushed his pocket against the side of the truck. He kept his head low and did not meet anyone’s eyes as they traveled the dusty road back to town.

In his pocket was a bundle of hope. He could afford to pay a smuggler to get him across the waters and back into Greece. In the last week, Saleem had come to the quiet realization that the passport he was waiting on was not coming. Every day he stayed in Intikal was a day lost. By now he could have been reunited with his family. The money in his pocket was nudging him to make the decision he knew he had to make.

He also knew that the money Ekin had given him had been stolen from her father. There was no way he could return to the Polat farm.

I need this. I put up with Mr. Polat’s orders to do this or that, and then do it over again because it was not good enough. I could not argue when he refused to pay me. This money can get me out of here and back to my family. What does it matter why she did it?

He’d made his decision by the time he walked through the side door. He could hear Hayal in the kitchen. He would not tell them about the money. There was no way to explain it. He needed to leave for the port right away and make his way to a boat for Athens. This was the only way.

Once he was certain Hakan and Hayal had retired to bed, Saleem counted and recounted the money until he was convinced it was real and that it was enough to get him back on course. It was far more than what the pawnshop had paid for his mother’s bangles.

Saleem had never seen his mother without those gold bracelets. He knew only that they had been his grandmother’s, a gift to the daughter she never met. He felt for his father’s watch on his wrist.

Madar-jan must have felt the same about her bangles. They were her only link to her mother.

Though he had no idea where she was, Saleem could now see and hear his mother more clearly than in all those months that they’d traveled side by side, jostling against each other on buses and ferries, sleeping in the same room, and doting over Samira and Aziz. The fog lifted and his mother crystallized before him as a real person. Saleem shut his eyes in the dark and wrapped himself in his mother’s forgiving embrace. He prayed for another chance.





CHAPTER 37


Saleem


IT WAS HARDER TO SAY GOOD-BYE TO HAKAN AND HAYAL THIS time. While Saleem had money and heart on his side, he also had no documents to facilitate his travel across borders.

His kind hosts were surprised by his sudden decision but did not try to dissuade him from leaving. Hayal busied herself getting together food, two pairs of wool socks, three shirts, and a windbreaker for Saleem. He rolled the clothing up and stuffed it into a small backpack that he slung over his shoulder. A brisk wind heralded the arrival of a colder season, and the extra layers could save him.

The wad of bills stayed close in his pocket where he could feel its reassuring bulk press against his hip. If he were caught, the money would be found, but he could not bring himself to hide it anywhere else.

Saleem retraced his steps and took the bus back to the coast. His skin prickled as the bus drew closer to the police station in Izmir where he’d been sent off with a rough farewell.

Saleem’s palms grew sweaty. In his solitude there was not much he could do to steel himself. He fell back to the words he’d heard his parents whisper in unsteady moments, in moments of hope and moments when they wanted to feel comfort.

Bismillah al Rahman al Raheem . . .

In the name of Allah, the most Gracious, most Compassionate . . .

Saleem had considered the two ways he knew of to get to Greece. He knew he could look for a smuggler to get him across the waters. That would cost a lot of money, especially if he smelled the desperation on Saleem. If it used up all his funds, he would have nothing left to get him from Greece to Italy.

The boys in Attiki had talked about people crossing over on cargo ferries leaving from Turkey and going to Athens. Trucks were loaded onto ships for transport. Jamal had filled him in on what some people had done. He hadn’t painted a pretty picture.

First, you sneak onto the undercarriage of a truck when no one is looking. The ports are busy so you have to do it when the truck driver and the guards are distracted. Then you have to stay there, not moving, until the truck is loaded onto the ship. When it is on the ship, you have to be completely still and quiet, however long the ride is. The tricky part is then at the final port where you have to get off the boat without anyone noticing.

Somewhere between Intikal and the port city, Saleem had decided he would try to make his own way across. Smugglers were too risky, and he couldn’t afford to lose all his money when he still had so much farther to go.

Saleem got off the bus and quickly ducked into a small side street to get his bearings. He discreetly scanned his surroundings for any signs of uniforms. He needed to get to the port. It was already afternoon and unlikely that he could sneak onto a truck today, but it would be best if he could find a secure place nearby to spend the night.