The Weight of Our Sky(56)

Just ahead, men are busy smashing the windows and doors of the shops that line Petaling Street with large rocks and rods of iron and wood. They force their way in, pushing back metal shutters and wooden gates, and exit bearing armfuls of loot: food and provisions, transistor radios and television sets, fistfuls of money that they stuff into pockets and bags. As we watch, one man lights a cigarette, then tosses his still-lit match casually in through a broken window; minutes later, fire crackles merrily in the empty building, sending cascades of smoke billowing into the sky. The others pause to roar their approval.

Beside me, I can feel May’s whole body trembling, and I hug her close. “Don’t worry,” I whisper in her ear. “They won’t find us. I’ll keep us safe.”

She curls into me and stays there quietly while I frantically try and figure out what to do next. There are only two roads we can take to the police station; Petaling Street is out, and if we cross over and try to head up Jalan Bandar, we run the risk of them seeing us, especially with May, who can’t run as fast or as far as I can. I sigh in frustration; I can’t see any way around them, and time is running out. We can’t stay here forever.

Think, Melati, think. This kid is depending on you.

For all the good that will do her. The Djinn decides that this would be a good time to pipe up. In my head, the movie reel clicks into place: Mama and Saf and May and Vince atop a pile of bodies in the lobby of the Rex, bloodied and bloated from all the days they’ve been left to rot, waiting for me to find them, protect them, save them.

I tap my fingers rapidly against my palm, shaking my head as if I can somehow put my thoughts back in place. May’s watchful eyes peer up at me questioningly, but she stays quiet.

If she stays with you, she’ll just end up getting hurt. They all do.

“Kakak?”

I open my eyes to see May staring at me, confused and frightened. And well she should be—there’s a riot going on behind us and all her supposed protector can do is sit in a car with her eyes shut.

She needs you, Melati. Get a grip.

“It’s okay, May,” I say, trying to smile at her as reassuringly as I can. “We’re going to slip out and run as fast as we can down that road over there, okay? You see that big white van over there?” I point to where the abandoned van sits, a few yards down the road from us. “When I say go, you run to that van and hide behind it, okay? I’ll hold your hand the whole time, but you have to run as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?” She nods, biting her bottom lip so hard I can see a drop of blood.

“Good girl. Are you ready?”

She hesitates, and my heart constricts. “You can do it. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? I won’t leave you.”

“Okay, kakak,” she whispers.

“Okay, let’s go.”

I grip the little hand tightly in mine and slowly open the door, inch by inch, shooting glances behind me as I go. Please don’t see us, please don’t see us, please don’t see us.

One deep breath. Then I tug at May’s hand, hiss “Go!”, and run, trying to keep my body low, my hair streaming behind me. I swear I hear footsteps pounding behind us, but I don’t dare look back. The van. The van. Just make it to the van. Beside me, May struggles valiantly to keep up, her hand clutching mine so tightly it’s almost numb.

It seems like it takes us forever to cover the distance from one hiding spot to another, but finally we sink to the ground behind the white van, panting hard. I crouch to peek out from beneath the van and see if anyone has noticed us, but other than the commotion from Petaling Street, we seem to be alone.

“And where do you think you’re going, girlie?”

I swing around, shoving May behind me, my heart in my throat.

We aren’t alone.

The man’s voice is low and harsh, his English tinged with the lilt of a Chinese accent. His dark hair is cropped close to his head; his face bears a thin scar from chin to cheek; his dark blue shirt reeks of sweat and smoke. In one hand, he swings an iron pipe; in the other, a cigarette. Dangerous, the Djinn whispers, he’s dangerous.

“Nowhere,” I say. “We’re just trying to get to our family.”

The man takes one last drag, then flicks his cigarette to the ground. “Little girls playing in the streets at a time like this. Not very proper, is it? You ought to be punished.” He grins at me, and I reach into my pocket, tapping the smooth handle of the little knife. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three.

He’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt both of you.

“Just kidding. Can’t take a joke, eh?”

Still, I don’t speak. May buries her head into my back, and I do my best to block her little body with mine as much as I can. Hidden in my pocket, my fingers don’t stop moving.

She’s going to die because you did this, Melati. You led her into this situation, and now she’s going to die.

“Cat got your tongue, little girl?”

He looms closer and closer and the Djinn’s voice is echoing in my head and suddenly the knife is out and I’m slashing wildly, blindly. I don’t even know what I’m doing; my vision is blurred and my breathing is labored and my ears are ringing, but the moment blade makes contact, I feel it: a sudden, visceral thrill. In my head, I hear Abah’s voice: “That’s right, Melati, that’s how you hold it, wrap your fingers around the handle like this, your thumb like this. Good.”