The Weight of Our Sky(60)

I give him three quick pats—as much to reassure myself as to comfort him—and slide into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. “Ready?” Mama asks me, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly I can see her knuckles turn white.

I nod. “Yes.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

I can see the sweat beading on her upper leap, and her lips moving as she recites a prayer under her breath. She switches gears carefully, then slowly begins easing the big van down the road.

BANG BANG BANG.

The noise is sudden and deafening, and I can’t help the scream that escapes me, my heart pounding with fear. Mama slams on the brakes, and the wheels shriek in protest. Ethan lets out a deep groan as the van jerks to a stop. “What is going on?” Mama yells. “I don’t know, but please, Mama, please don’t open the door.” I know I’m begging, I know I sound crazy, but my heart is pounding so hard I swear I’m about to have a heart attack, and the Djinn won’t leave me alone.

“I have to see what’s happening,” Mama insists.

“No, Mama, please, let’s just go, please, Mama. . . .” I’m sobbing now, hysterical, hanging on to her arm so she can’t go anywhere. In my head, a parade of wild imaginings troops past: a shooter appears, blasting Mama’s head off with a rifle; looters set fire to the van with all of us still in it; thugs snatch us all out of the van to torture and maim us as they please.

“Calm down, sayang.” My mother’s voice is low and soothing, yet it’s like someone’s banged a gong, and suddenly the chaos is gone. Everything is quiet again. “Calm down, sweetheart. It’s all right. Just breathe.” I follow along obediently, inhaling and exhaling until everything seems right again. “I have to take a look and see what’s going on,” she says quietly. “I’ll be right back.”

I can only nod and watch mutely as she swings her door open. I’m too exhausted to do anything else. Instead, I count down the seconds until she returns, leaning my forehead against the cool window beside me, watching my breath create trails of mist that blossom and then disappear again within seconds.

Fifty-two counts later, the door opens, and Mama appears. “Look who I found,” she says, smiling wryly. May peeks out from behind her, wearing a shy smile. “Hi, kakak.”

“Hi, May,” I say, trying my best to hide my frustration. The last thing we need is another kid to worry about. “What are you doing here? It’s much safer for you to be inside, with the other children.”

She shakes her head firmly. “No, thank you,” she says, like I’ve just offered her a cup of tea. “I’d rather stay with you.” And she hops up into the van and climbs quickly into the back, perching in the seat next to Ethan. “I can help take care of him,” she says virtuously, making a great show of tucking the loose corners of the blanket back tightly around the boy. “See? That’s better.” And she pats him gently on the head for good measure.

I turn to Mama. “Do we really have to take her?”

“We don’t have time for arguments,” Mama says, climbing in and shutting the door behind her. “We’ve got to get to the hospital, and quickly. Just be sure to mind us and do what we say, okay?” She directs the last part over her shoulder, and May nods vigorously, looking pleased at not being chased away.

I sigh. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” The Djinn plays cold notes of fear up and down my spine; in my pocket, my fingers don’t stop, the rhythmic tapping muffled by their fabric cocoon.

? ? ?

The first few minutes of the drive are painful. The van grinds and shudders down streets and alleys, but other than a few groans from Ethan, we go on in silence, May and I all too conscious of my mother’s gritted teeth, white knuckles, and frayed temper. I keep myself busy counting and tapping and blinking—incantations so that the Djinn will ensure safe passage for all of us.

Eventually, Mama gets the hang of it, and we glide smoothly along the near-empty roads. Behind me, I can hear May humming a little tune, and I feel my own body start to unclench itself. Even the Djinn is silent.

Mama glances over at me and smiles. “Looks like we’ll make it,” she says, and I smile back because I’m finally starting to believe it.

Until it happens.

There is a strange, uncomfortable clanking from the engine, then another. Mama’s face is frozen in a rictus of confusion and panic, and I can feel my own rearranging itself to mirror it. What’s going on? What’s happening? The Djinn immediately rears its ugly head, a smile spreading slowly across his face. Who said you could stop counting? Who said it was safe? You were careless, and now you’ll just have to pay for it.

“What’s happening, Mama?” I cry, but she can’t answer; she’s intent and focused, gripping the wheel as though her life depends on it—which, of course, it does. As all of our lives do.

If we could keep the van going by sheer willpower, we would have been at the hospital ten minutes ago. As it is, the old green clunker rolls along gamely for a while before slowing, then stopping altogether.

Inside, there is nothing but dead silence. Even Ethan doesn’t move a muscle, and for a second I wonder distractedly if he’s okay. But only for a second. I’m too busy trying to deal with the Djinn, who has decided to climb onto my back and wrap his arms around my neck; I’m weighed down by dread and fear, and all the air is being choked out of me, painfully and slowly. You’re all going to die here if you don’t keep counting, he whispers in my ear, caressing my hair with long, tender strokes. Never stop counting again. Never.