As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (96)

I take a few steps toward the sea, breathing in its salty cold air, feeling it cleanse me.

The Mediterranean is angry today. A storm brews under his restless waves. I see him rumble and twist within himself. I hear the remnants of those before me walking along the sand, throwing stones into his depth, trying to make sense of what has been happening for more than fifty years.

“The boat is right over there,” Am calls out, and I look. If I’d had any expectations, I might have fallen over right then and there.

Calling it a boat would be generous. Once upon a time it must have been white. Now it’s dirty and battered, with rusty brown scratches hiding its true color. It floats innocently a bit beyond the shore. I’m not an expert, but I already see at least ten red flags. The huge number of people already on it being one. A baby starts crying, and another joins in. One wrong move, I imagine, and it’ll tip over.

“Made it just in time too!” Am opens the trunk of his car and takes out four life jackets identical to the ones the people on the boat are wearing. Orange, so we can be seen. He tosses them to the kids.

“What the hell is this, Am?” I ask when I find my voice. Kenan stands very still, his eyes never leaving the boat.

“What?” He straps Lama securely into her life jacket.

“What do you mean what?” I spit out. “This is a goddamn fishing boat, isn’t it?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure fishing boats can’t carry a small village! There’re way more people than there should be.”

“You expected a cruise ship?” He whips around and throws my life jacket at me. I catch it deftly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get one to your standards, Your Highness.”

“You know exactly what I mean. That boat is a ticking time bomb!”

“You’ll make it,” he says firmly. “You’re not the first boat we’ve sent off. That one has made the trip countless times.”

I look at Kenan helplessly. What do we do?

Behind him, the mountains of Tartus stand strong. And behind them? Hell. And, I realize, death.

“If we stay, we die,” Kenan says in a low tone. “And if we leave, we might die.”

We can’t stay. There’s no guarantee we’d even make it back to Homs.

I’d rather drown.

“The boat will leave without you,” Am says.

I take one look at my life jacket before strapping it on, and then help Kenan adjust his. He presses his forehead against mine, his hand on the back of my neck.

“Have faith, my love,” he whispers.

I clasp his wrist, nodding. Kenan’s eyes fill up with tears as he casts them to Tartus’s mountains.

“We’re ready.” I turn to Am, sniffing loudly.

“The money and gold,” he says. I take them out and drop them in his hand.

He counts the money in a low voice, examines the necklace and ring, then tucks the money into his wallet and the gold in his pockets.

“All right, go.” He shoos us toward the boat.

“We just get on it?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He climbs into his car and starts the engine. “The captain of the ship saw me, and you’re not going back with me, so he knows you paid. Go!”

I try not to show how nervous I feel. This seems too… easy?

When we don’t move, Am sighs loudly and murmurs a prayer to God to give him patience. “Salama, trust me. I promise you on my daughter’s life this boat will take you to Europe. Go!”

If there’s anything I’ll trust coming from Am, it’s that he loves his daughter.

“Of course there wouldn’t have been a daughter to swear on if you’d let her die. God forbid they let you work again,” he mumbles, but I hear him. I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath.

I whirl around, marching right up to him. He pauses.

“I know I nearly destroyed your life with what I did,” I say. “But you demanded I bleed myself dry. You’re not a saint. And neither am I. But at least I feel remorse.”

I walk away, not wanting to hear his reply. After a second, the engine starts and he drives away.

“Let’s go,” I say to Kenan, Yusuf, and Lama. Kenan brushes a hand over his eyes, turning away from the mountains. Away from Layla’s grave. From Mama and Baba. From Hamza.

I take Lama’s hand and Kenan takes Yusuf’s. We wade through the waves that crash against our knees trying to push us back—warning us. But we don’t listen. We refuse to listen.





THE NEARER WE GET TO THE BOAT, THE MORE IT seems that people are spilling from its edges. The person in charge—the captain, I presume—greets us gruffly and helps Yusuf and Lama get on. The faces that greet us as we clumsily make our way onboard and try to find room to sit are starved, cold, empty. They huff in annoyance at more people crowding the already overfull boat.

We find a small, empty space and quickly sit down and lean against the boat’s side. My limbs sag with relief, my teeth chattering as I huddle closer to Kenan. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and hugs me closer. Our jeans and coats are wet up to our knees. Lama clings to Yusuf, her body shivering. Her own coat won’t dry anytime soon, so I take out a sweater and throw it to Yusuf, praying we don’t die from hypothermia.