As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (94)

“Kenan.” I take his hand, drawing him closer.

He looks forlorn, heartbreak written all over his face. I haven’t the slightest idea what to say to ease his sorrow. It’s the same grief tearing through me, so I wrap an arm around him and tuck my head under his chin.

“Syria lives in our hearts,” I whisper. “She always will.”

He hugs me, pressing a kiss to the top of my hijab.

We stay like this, swaying and staring at our city. The fifteen minutes trickle by. People walk in and out of the mosque and with each extra minute my anxiety rises. What if Am doesn’t show up? What if something’s happened to him?

If he doesn’t come, all four of us might as well dig our own graves right here.

But my paranoia subsides when I hear the faint sound of a car approaching along the road. It’s an old gray Toyota, its sides streaked with mud and the windshield in need of a wash. Even from this distance, I can see it’s Am sitting behind the wheel. He skids in front of us, stopping short.

“Get in.” A cigarette hangs from his lips. “We’re on a tight schedule, and we’re five minutes late.”

“You mean you’re five minutes late,” I retort, folding my arms.

He glares. “Do you want to chat, or do you want to leave? Get in the back and—” He stops, counting us, and frowns. “Where’s Layla?”

My eyes burn and I fight the hollowness in my stomach, looking away. Am’s expression turns grave.

“So that’s one less payment,” he says, and even though his tone isn’t the slightest bit malicious, the urge to punch him rises in me.

Kenan’s hand weighs on my shoulder and he nods at me. I open the door tentatively and Yusuf slides in first, then Lama and Kenan. I get in and Lama shifts to sit on Kenan’s lap. We leave the front seat empty, wanting to be close to one another.

Am reverses the car, his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. He drives onto the road, and as I glance out the window, my body begins to tremble with anticipation and sadness. We pass through narrow streets, edging nearer to the Free Syrian Army’s borders.

“You get those bruises when the military breached the hospital?” Am asks Kenan, eyeing him in the mirror.

“Yes,” Kenan answers. His voice is still stricken with guilt.

“Are they going to be a problem for us?” I ask, wrapping my hand around his, anchoring him to me.

Am steers with one hand, the other tapping out ash from his cigarette. “It would have been better if he didn’t have them, but the guards won’t cause us any problems as long as I give them the money. First border coming up in a few minutes.”

My muscles clench, my heart hammering fast, and I glance at Kenan and see the same fear in his eyes. Even if Am has never been stopped before, it doesn’t mean that won’t happen today. Minds and hearts can change. The soldiers he’s struck a deal with might have gotten bored of their arrangement.

We finally make it out of Old Homs, passing a tank along the way that’s decorated with the revolution flag.

Just a bit ahead, the military border comes into view. I recognize it by the swarming soldiers and the line of cars packed right behind one another. The closer we get, the louder the voices become, and I hear shouting. I turn my head slowly to see, scared the very motion will alert them to us. Am swerves to the far end, and from my window I see three soldiers kicking a man sprawled on the ground. Each blow makes me jump, and Kenan’s hand tightens around mine.

“Don’t look,” he whispers, and I tear my eyes away, drilling holes into my knees. I can still hear the man howling in pain and my throat closes up.

God, please. If we don’t make it through, then don’t let them take us, I pray hard. Please let them kill us.

Am stops in front of a soldier wearing a pair of dark-tinted army glasses. His black hair is slicked back and he looks bored. Am rolls down the window and says, “Morning. How’s it going?”

“All right,” the soldier replies before tilting his head to the side to inspect us in the back.

I feel the touch of his stare and glue my eyes back to my knees. I’m too scared to glance at Kenan and his siblings to see if they’re doing the same.

“Roll down the back window,” the soldier says, and Am laughs nervously.

“Is that necessary? We—”

“Roll it,” the soldier snaps. The window protests as Am slides it down.

My heart’s in my throat. The soldier rests both his arms on the window’s edge. I’m aware of his rifle tapping against the car’s roof, and the cut on my neck begins to burn.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, and we all freeze.

I clear my throat, and before I can say anything, he says, “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

His voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the lethality in it. I turn toward him heavily.

“Tartus,” I say, and my voice breaks.

His mouth quirks upward, amused. “Tartus? What will you be doing there?”

He’s toying with me like a cat playing with a mouse. He studies the bead of sweat making a path down my cheek.

“Visiting family,” I lie, hoping he can’t hear it in my voice.

He grins, all teeth and no warmth. “Family.”

He says it teasingly as if he and I are in on a secret. His eyes bore into mine and he waits for me to squirm. But I resist. At long last, he nods at Kenan and asks, “What happened to you?”