When the Moon Is Low(80)

Saleem felt for the wad of bills in his pocket. Ekin. He remembered the way she stirred feelings in him—feelings of shame and curiosity at the same time. Maybe he should have let it go on . . . just to know. He had not understood her or what was happening.

And Roksana. He would find her when he got to Athens. She would know what had happened to his mother and siblings. Saleem closed his eyes and pictured her face. He missed her. He missed having someone to talk to. He floated into a light sleep, his mind twisting the real into the surreal. It was Roksana, not Ekin, nuzzled against his cheek. His hands were on her waist and slipped around to the small of her back. Their lips met, an electrifying sensation that made Saleem wake with a strange tingle.

The ship was silent except for the hum of the engine. His dream lingered. He tried to close his mind around that feeling, the closeness he’d felt to Roksana. He tried to keep it from evaporating into his awakeness as pleasant dreams did too often.

Saleem had lost all sense of time in the dark. He had no idea how much longer till they reached Piraeus. He closed his eyes again and tried to sleep.

SALEEM’S EYES SNAPPED OPEN TO THE SOUND OF VOICES IN THE cargo area. He immediately flipped onto his stomach and flattened himself. The voices were close.

Piraeus. The drivers were returning to their trucks and preparing to disembark. Passengers were starting to make their way to the door where they would pick up their stored luggage. Saleem’s head ached from the traces of black fumes that had settled into the air he had breathed. He ignored the throbbing and tried to stay focused.

The ship dropped anchor and dragged to a stop at the port. Trucks were parked facing the ramp. When the gates had lowered fully and the hopeful light of a crescent moon crept in, Saleem heard the cab door open and close. Engines rumbled to life. Saleem felt the gears shift beneath him as the truck disembarked.

It was just before daybreak. The truck rolled onto the dock and pulled to a stop.

Saleem lifted his head a few inches. Bleary-eyed passengers walked about, making their way to the main road or the taxi stand a few meters away. He stayed alert for anyone in a uniform, anyone who would try to spot him. It was too close to the piers he decided, and he lowered his head again, hoping the truck would stop somewhere before heading down any major road.

A QUARTER MILE DOWN THE ROAD, THE TRUCK PAUSED. IT WAS A red light and Saleem’s best chance. He grabbed his backpack, slipped it over his shoulders quickly, and slid down the back of the truck, his foot feeling for the latch to help him step down. He found it just as the truck started to move again.

His left foot hit the platform. His hands skated down the sides of the truck, metal grating against his skin. Headlights glared on his back, horns honked. He leaped to the ground, his ankles screaming. The truck driver, oblivious to the chaos behind him, headed down the road as Saleem darted into an alley before anyone could chase him down.

The sun was up before he stopped moving. He passed by familiar places, the first hotel they had stayed in, the café where they had purchased some food on the day they arrived, and the metro stop that Saleem had taken to venture into Athens.

ROKSANA. HE NEEDED TO FIND HER. SHE WAS THE ONLY PERSON who could tell him where his family might be and what may have happened to his passport. But he didn’t want to face her looking the way he did. He hadn’t had a proper bath in a week. His hair was matted to his head and his clothes were dusty and tattered. The construction sites and the docks had not been easy on him. Saleem used the morning to find a public restroom. He washed as best he could and changed into a fresh pair of clothes.

He took the metro into Athens. It was a weekday and there was a chance that Roksana would drop by Attiki after school. Saleem had no other way of contacting her.

Back at Attiki Square, he told Jamal and Abdullah about being sent back to Turkey and being separated from his family. They shook their heads in disappointment, but not surprise. When he was last here, he’d felt different from these men. He’d felt above them. All that was gone. Alone, he was one of them now. He saw himself in their faces now, in their ragged clothes and in the plastic bags that held all their worldly possessions.

He slept in Attiki that night, but remembering that he would be within yards of the infamous Saboor, he stuffed his cash into his underwear and wound the strap of his backpack around his wrist. After the many lonely days and nights in Izmir, it felt good to be around people he knew and to hear the boys teasing and joking with one another.

IT WAS HIS SECOND DAY BACK. SALEEM WANTED TO SEARCH FOR food but was afraid he would miss Roksana. He sat with his back against a tree and listened to Abdullah tell stories of his childhood—spitting watermelon seeds into the stream behind his home, scaring his younger cousins with stories of djinns. Abdullah painted a picture of an Afghanistan no one would ever leave. He was only reliving the good but Saleem knew better. They all did.

And then she came. Saleem leaped to his feet at the sight of the familiar purple shirts. Abdullah burst out laughing and slapped his calves.

“Ah, the real reason you’ve come back! You think she’ll take you in and give you asylum, eh?”

“Abdullah, don’t say that. It’s nothing like that.”

Saleem was nervous. Four figures approached and Saleem held his breath. He spied Roksana, carrying a large box. Saleem walked over, when he wanted to run. He did not want to bring any more attention to Roksana for both their sakes.

He called her name softly.