The Weight of Our Sky(55)

“There was a lot of banging and shouting suddenly. I don’t know what happened. The tea shop uncle said he had to close the shop. He told Mummy to stay in the back room with me and keep quiet until he said we could come out. Mummy said it was like a game. So I stayed really super quiet because I like to win.”

I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “I’m sure you’re very good at games,” I say, and she nods vigorously. “I am,” she tells me solemnly. “I always beat my mummy at checkers and snakes and ladders.” She pauses, then adds reluctantly, “I think she lets me win at checkers, though. But only sometimes.”

“I’m sure there are lots of times when you beat her fair and square.” I smile at her. “What happened after that?”

She frowns. “Mummy kept peeking through the door to see what was happening. There was a lot more noise outside, more crashing and banging, so I thought we’d win for sure because the uncle was being so loud. Then Mummy grabbed me and told me we had to leave. The back room had a door that could let you out, so she used that, and then we ran away. I was mad because Mummy carried me just like a baby, and I am NOT a baby anymore. Mummy said I wasn’t fast enough. But I am! I can run really, really fast.” She scowls deeply at the indignity of it all.

“I bet you can,” I say, and she relaxes a little. “Is that how you ended up here?”

She nods firmly. “When we came in, there were lots of people sleeping in the chairs downstairs. Mummy said they were so tired from watching the movie. We stayed in a room downstairs and Mummy would lock the door and put a chair in front of it. The floor was soo hard, I couldn’t sleep properly and I really wanted to go home. But I did get to eat all kinds of yummy snacks Mummy doesn’t usually let me buy. . . .” She trails off, contemplating the pros and cons of cinema life.

“Where’d your mummy go?” I ask her gently. Her face falls. “There was a lot of loud noises outside, so she went to go see. She said I had to stay quiet and hide in our room and not let anyone inside at all. She said it was like another game. And if she didn’t come back, if I won, then someone would come find me and bring me home.” She looks down then. “I cheated, though. I got hungry, so I had to come out.” Her lips tremble slightly as she looks up at me. “Can I still win? Are you going to take me home?” she asks.

My heart wrenches. I can’t leave her here to fend for herself.

Everybody who’s around you gets hurt, the Djinn says warningly. You’re toxic, Melati. You’re capable of protecting nothing and no one. You’ll get this girl killed, just like you got Saf killed. The mention of Saf’s name sends a stabbing pain shooting through my chest, and I waver for an instant.

Then I feel a little hand work its way into mine. May looks up at me trustingly, and I know right then that there is no way I’m leaving without her. “That’s right,” I tell her. “I’m going to get you out of here, and we’ll find a way to get you home.”

And I squeeze her hand and smile reassuringly at her as the Djinn screams and scenes of death swirl around my head.

? ? ?

So I haven’t found Mama, and I’ve managed to saddle myself with a child that I’m somehow supposed to cart around the city while I look for her.

You, Melati, are a fine, fine fool.

I sigh and look down at May, who is sitting on a bench in the lobby munching contentedly on the bun I’d managed to fish out of my bag.

The bun. The bun that I’d gotten from the police station. That’s it! The police station isn’t too far away; I’ll take May there. She’ll be safe, they’ll be able to get her back home, and I’ll slip away again when they aren’t looking and go find Mama on my own.

Satisfied with my plan, I kneel down so I’m eye level with the girl. “May, we’re going to get you to the police station, okay? The uncles there will know how to get you home.” She looks at me with those big brown eyes and nods. Her hand hasn’t left mine.

When she’s done eating, I take her to the bathroom to wash up. “Do you need to go?” I ask her, hearing echoes of my own mother. She nods and slips into one of the stalls. While waiting, I stare blankly at my own reflection. This entire situation feels unreal.

The sound of the flushing toilet echoes through the tiny bathroom, and she opens the door and steps out. The yellow dress she wears is a touch too long for her, and I imagine I can hear her mother’s voice parroting what all mothers say: Better to make it big, so she can wear it for a long time more. All it does is make her look even smaller, more vulnerable than she already is. I suddenly want to hug her.

Instead, I lead her to the sink and help her wash the worst of the smudges and smears off her face. Then we head back out to the lobby.

“Okay,” I say, looking down to make sure she’s listening. “We don’t really know what it’s like out there, so you need to listen to me and do what I tell you, okay?” She nods, her little face serious. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to stay still, you be as quiet as you can be. Okay?” Another nod, and she slips her hand firmly back into mine and clutches it as though she’s never letting go.

“Okay. Stay close to me.” I take a deep breath. “Here we go.”

Slowly, carefully, I push open the heavy theater doors and glance up and down the street. All is quiet. “Come on,” I say, tugging at May’s hand, and we run quickly up the street, staying close to the wall. At the intersection of Cecil and Petaling Street I turn right—and then abruptly shove the little girl behind a blue Ford Anglia abandoned by the side of the street, the door on the driver’s side hanging wide open, its windshield an intricate mass of cracks spawning from a hole almost right in the center of the glass, where a rock has smashed through. “Get in, get in,” I hiss at her, and crawl in behind her, swinging the door shut behind me as quietly as I can. Then we both peek over the Ford’s pale leather seats at the scene behind us.