When the Moon Is Low(99)

Saleem had not known girls like these. Just thinking about them made him feel like more of a man, as little sense as that made.

NIGHT CAME AND SALEEM FOUND HIS WAY BACK TO THE DIMLY lit street. He did not see Mimi. He saw other girls, girls of all hues, wearing short pants or ruffled skirts, masking their ennui with coquettish postures. He kept his distance.

He sat on the front steps of an abandoned building. His watch read nine o’clock. A few cars drove by, slowly. From where he sat, he could see the streetlamp under which they’d met. He would wait, he decided.

Thirty minutes later, a car pulled up. The passenger-side door opened, and one pale leg after another, Mimi emerged. She closed the door behind her just as the car began to peel away. She adjusted her skirt and stepped back onto the sidewalk gingerly, her ankle still tender.

She wore a jade-colored top and white skirt that shimmered under the glow of the streetlamp. Saleem stood and walked toward her. She saw him approaching from afar but acted coolly.

“Mimi,” Saleem said nervously. He kept his hands in pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

“You come back.”

By the way she said it, Saleem could tell she had not expected him to nor was she particularly thrilled that he had.

“Yes. Your foot. Is it okay?”

She nodded. Maybe she regretted telling him to return.

Saleem spoke quickly, before she could tell him to leave. “Can you take me to this man? The man who can send me to France?”

“It is bad idea. Sorry. Maybe is better you find your way.”

The hope she’d kindled in him last night had grown into a full blaze. She was hesitant. Saleem was not.

“Please, I need help. I must go England . . . for my family. For my mother, my sister, my brother.”

Mimi winced at the mention of family. She put a hand on her hip and took a quick glance behind her.

“I do not know what happen. These people sometimes in dangerous places. You have come to Italy alone. I think you go now and find your way, like everyone. You can. No one watch you or hold you here.”

“Mimi, please,” he beseeched.

“It is not good idea,” she said softly.

“I have nothing,” Saleem said simply. “I need this.”

He had more than she did, Mimi knew. She envied the chance he could take—the chance she, as a caged bird, could never take. She relented, having given him ample warning. Whatever happened after this moment would not be on her conscience.

“I show you. But you not say my name.”

Saleem agreed readily. A ring. She hurriedly reached into her small handbag and pulled out a mobile phone. She spoke with someone briefly, her eyes roving the street as she talked. She sounded nervous, obedient.

“We go quickly.”

He followed her lead. She told him she would lead him to an apartment building and, from there, Saleem would have to approach the man and ask for assistance on a passage to France.

Finally, Saleem thought, I am getting somewhere.

His relief was short-lived.

They had walked but a few moments when a steel-gray car whipped around a corner and screeched to a stop in front of them, nearly hopping the curb. They jumped back and Mimi went toppling over, her foot already unsteady. Saleem reached out to help her, and she took his hand.

“You are customer,” she whispered quickly. Her voice trembled.

“What?”

But there was no time for her to clarify. A man in a black leather jacket stormed out of the car, slamming the driver’s-side door as he came out. He grabbed Mimi’s arm away from Saleem and asked her something in a language Saleem did not understand. Unsatisfied with her answer, he tightened his grip and tried to rattle the truth out of her. She pleaded with him.

“What are you doing with this girl?” the man snarled, turning his attention to Saleem. His dark, cold eyes narrowed. He stood a few inches taller than Saleem and was a good thirty pounds heavier. His unshaven face only intimidated Saleem more.

“I . . . I . . . I was talking,” Saleem stuttered, before remembering what Mimi had whispered to him.

“Talking for what?”

“I want to ask her . . . because I want to . . .” Saleem faltered.

“Do you want her?” he said casually.

“Y-y-yes,” Saleem said with as much conviction as he could muster. Mimi looked nervously from Saleem to the man.

“Good. Let me see money.”

Saleem panicked. His money was in the pouch hidden at his waist. He could not take out a few bills to show this man without having the man see that he had more and he could not risk losing everything.

“I . . . I do not have . . .”

The man had let go of Mimi and was squeezing Saleem’s chin and cheeks with a single, pressing hand, a viselike grip.

“No money?”

“No,” Saleem squeaked through his mashed lips. The grip tightened.

“No money, eh?” He turned to Mimi and yelled something at her. Before she could begin to explain, his hand clapped against her face. She reeled backward. Saleem thrust his hands out toward her, but he now had the man’s full attention.

“You wasting my girl’s time?” He struck Saleem with the same vicious blow. Saleem staggered and tried to get his bearings, but the second and third blows came too quickly.

There was no arguing with his rage.