When the Moon Is Low (31 page)
Saleem did not see Ekin for a week after that. His outburst had driven her away. He felt no remorse for it. Every day that passed he became testier. It was now nearly three weeks since he had spoken to his mother. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue holding out hope that the passport would arrive.
And then Ekin came back. It was early in the morning, and Saleem headed into the barn after giving a quick nod to Polat, who was already on a plow and heading off into a distant field. Mr. Polat usually kept to himself, working long days but not in any proximity to Saleem or the Armenian woman.
Saleem went into the barn to check on the troughs. He looked for a pail to bring in fresh water.
“Saleem.” Her voice was a sheepish whisper.
“Mm,” he grunted. He didn’t bother turning around and dug through a stack of equipment trying to find a pail.
“I . . . I am sorry.” She was behind him now. Just inches away from his back. He felt her fingers touch his shoulder and he tensed. An apology? This, he had not anticipated.
“I didn’t mean to say . . .”
He nodded with his head bent, a quiet acknowledgment of her gesture. She sounded sincere, and he was too exhausted to be angry. Her words meant more than he thought they would. Her words made
him feel just a bit more human than he’d felt in a long time. His mood softened.
Ekin’s fingers moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, slowly and deliberately. Saleem was paralyzed, unsure what she was doing. He was afraid to move. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, much gentler than her words had ever been. She moved in closer. He could feel her warm breath on the nape of his neck.
What is she doing? I should move away. I should . . .
Her fingers tangled themselves in his inky hair, teased his scalp, and returned to his neck and shoulders. Her other hand touched his shoulder and lingered on his arm. She was tentative, but when he did not pull away, she leaned in and pressed her face into the space between his shoulders. Something in him stirred. Saleem’s eyes closed.
Ekin pushed him gently into the barn’s recess and out of the sun’s light. Hay crinkled under their feet. Saleem’s feet moved at her guidance, but he did not turn to face her. He could not face her. The light was dim, darting through eyelet openings in the slat roof.
Why is she doing this?
“I only wanted to talk to you,” she whispered to Saleem so quietly that he was not sure if he had heard her or imagined it.
He turned slowly, his curious body acting without thinking. They were face-to-face, but the darkness was forgiving. She touched his cheek. Saleem found it easy to disregard every terrible conversation they’d had. There was something tender and exciting and irresistible about the moment. His hands moved on their own accord, traveling to her narrow waist, tracing the outline of her hips and sliding upward. She brushed her lips against his cheek. He turned his face, and their mouths connected. Clumsy and wet. Saleem felt another part of him grow anxious. As long as his eyes stayed closed, he could ignore the world.
Their feet shuffled in the straw.
“Saleem . . .” she whispered. His eyes opened and he pulled back abruptly as if he’d touched a hot stove.
A thousand thoughts rushed into his mind. What if Mr. Polat were to walk in? Why was he even touching her? He took a step back and hit a wall. Ekin recoiled, surprised by his sudden shift.
“I should . . . you should go,” he said simply. She paused, and then she spun around and raced out of the barn. Saleem was left to wonder what aftermath to expect. If her father or mother found out . . . his heart pounded to even think of it.
Saleem paced the barn and wondered if he should leave before Polat came chasing after him. He waited and strained his ears for the sound of Mr. Polat raging toward the barn. Nothing. Saleem inched toward the barn door and peered out apprehensively. Off in the distance, he could see Mr. Polat still riding his plow. Mrs. Polat was at the back of the house, hanging sheets on a clothesline. There was no sign of Ekin.
He cautiously resumed his work, but it was hours before his pulse slowed to normal. His eyes darted back and forth as he worked, careful not to be caught off guard. Sunset came and Saleem left, tired and sweaty from an extraordinarily exhausting day.
SALEEM FOUND HIMSELF BACK ON THE TRUCK THE NEXT MORNING
, wondering if he was walking into a trap. He approached the farm tensely and on guard but, just as the day before, Polat barely acknowledged his appearance. Saleem stayed on alert all day and was thankful Ekin stayed out of sight. He’d thought about those moments in the barn, puzzled by her actions and unable to decipher her motives.
What girl touches a boy? How shameless.
But he also wondered why she’d approached him. Her condescending tone and spiteful comments . . . had that all been a front?
Saleem was even more puzzled by his reaction. He hadn’t pulled away.
His body had responded to her with its own urges. He could still feel her skin under his fingertips, her half-ripe curves beneath
his palms. Last night, he lay awake on the mattress and let his fingers move along the nape of his neck, the way Ekin’s had. The feeling gave him a thrill.
He wondered if she kept away because she was angry or if it was because she was ashamed.
From time to time, Saleem thought he caught glimpses of Ekin watching from the back window or slipping through the side door. She remained elusive. Saleem was grateful. He had no words for her.
AS THE DAYS SLIPPED BY, SALEEM BECAME EVEN MORE RESTLESS AS
he waited for the envelope his mother promised him. He had even checked in with the neighbors to see if the passport had been delivered to the wrong address. A month passed and there was still no sign. As optimistic as Hakan and Hayal tried to appear, Saleem could tell they too were beginning to think the envelope would never arrive.
Ekin finally broke her silence. The sun was setting and Saleem had just finished planting a bag of seeds that Polat had given him. It was time for winter crops and Polat wanted to grow sugar beets. Saleem had put the tools back into the barn, piled them into a corner, and stretched his back. He heard hay crackle and turned around to see Ekin’s thin frame by the barn door. She did not approach him.
“You are finished?” she said softly. She looked away, one foot tucked behind the other in a bashful pose. Saleem could sense her discomfort and felt a wave of pity.
“Yes,” he replied. He stayed where he was. The distance between them was protective.
“You don’t like working here.” It was a statement, not a question. Whatever she was about to say, Ekin had rehearsed. He could almost imagine her, watching from a distance and thinking of what she would say to him.
“I thought maybe you would . . . I did not mean to make you angry or sad. I did not know. I want you to take this and do not come
back here. It is better if you do not come back here.” She held in her outstretched hand something folded up in a piece of notebook paper.
“What is it?”
“Just take this. And go. Please . . . please just go.” Her voice sounded strained, like a child on the verge of a tantrum. She took a few steps toward him but kept a distance. Saleem was a fire that would burn her if she got too close.
The packet was within reach. Saleem took it. Ekin was unpredictable, but her demeanor was changed. Saleem could sense she was not toying with him and that whatever she was offering had not been an easy decision for her to make.
His fingers closed in on the paper. Ekin whipped around and ran out of the barn. Saleem watched her go before undoing the folded paper carefully. Packed within, he found a thick wad of bills. His eyes widened. There was more money than he could estimate, bills of all different denominations.
Saleem panicked, folded up the bills, and stuffed them into his pocket. He listened for the sound of approaching footsteps and heard nothing. Where could Ekin have gotten this from? When he saw no one nearing the barn, he slipped out of view again and took the money out of his pocket. As he fingered through the bills, his heart quickened and he broke out in a sweat. He was left with one question.
Should I take this?
After months of laboring for every lira, selling off Madar-
jan
’s last pieces of jewelry for a few euros, and stealing bread to feed his family, Saleem could see no other possibility. He needed this money and believed he deserved it. He stuffed the wad into his pocket and smoothed his shirt over the lump. With a deep breath, he stepped out of the barn and walked across the yard toward the small road. He did not turn around or stop to see if the Armenian woman was behind him.
He sat in the back of the vehicle and pushed his pocket against the side of the truck. He kept his head low and did not meet anyone’s eyes as they traveled the dusty road back to town.
In his pocket was a bundle of hope. He could afford to pay a smuggler to get him across the waters and back into Greece. In the last week, Saleem had come to the quiet realization that the passport he was waiting on was not coming. Every day he stayed in Intikal was a day lost. By now he could have been reunited with his family. The money in his pocket was nudging him to make the decision he knew he had to make.
He also knew that the money Ekin had given him had been stolen from her father. There was no way he could return to the Polat farm.
I need this. I put up with Mr. Polat’s orders to do this or that, and then do it over again because it was not good enough. I could not argue when he refused to pay me. This money can get me out of here and back to my family. What does it matter why she did it?
He’d made his decision by the time he walked through the side door. He could hear Hayal in the kitchen. He would not tell them about the money. There was no way to explain it. He needed to leave for the port right away and make his way to a boat for Athens. This was the only way.
Once he was certain Hakan and Hayal had retired to bed, Saleem counted and recounted the money until he was convinced it was real and that it was enough to get him back on course. It was far more than what the pawnshop had paid for his mother’s bangles.
Saleem had never seen his mother without those gold bracelets. He knew only that they had been his grandmother’s, a gift to the daughter she never met. He felt for his father’s watch on his wrist.
Madar-
jan
must have felt the same about her bangles. They were her only link to her mother.
Though he had no idea where she was, Saleem could now see and hear his mother more clearly than in all those months that they’d traveled side by side, jostling against each other on buses and ferries, sleeping in the same room, and doting over Samira and Aziz. The fog lifted and his mother crystallized before him as a real person. Saleem shut his eyes in the dark and wrapped himself in his mother’s forgiving embrace. He prayed for another chance.
IT WAS HARDER TO SAY GOOD-BYE TO HAKAN AND HAYAL THIS
time. While Saleem had money and heart on his side, he also had no documents to facilitate his travel across borders.
His kind hosts were surprised by his sudden decision but did not try to dissuade him from leaving. Hayal busied herself getting together food, two pairs of wool socks, three shirts, and a windbreaker for Saleem. He rolled the clothing up and stuffed it into a small backpack that he slung over his shoulder. A brisk wind heralded the arrival of a colder season, and the extra layers could save him.
The wad of bills stayed close in his pocket where he could feel its reassuring bulk press against his hip. If he were caught, the money would be found, but he could not bring himself to hide it anywhere else.
Saleem retraced his steps and took the bus back to the coast. His skin prickled as the bus drew closer to the police station in Izmir where he’d been sent off with a rough farewell.
Saleem’s palms grew sweaty. In his solitude there was not much he
could do to steel himself. He fell back to the words he’d heard his parents whisper in unsteady moments, in moments of hope and moments when they wanted to feel comfort.
Bismillah al Rahman al Raheem . . .
In the name of Allah, the most Gracious, most Compassionate . . .
Saleem had considered the two ways he knew of to get to Greece. He knew he could look for a smuggler to get him across the waters. That would cost a lot of money, especially if he smelled the desperation on Saleem. If it used up all his funds, he would have nothing left to get him from Greece to Italy.
The boys in Attiki had talked about people crossing over on cargo ferries leaving from Turkey and going to Athens. Trucks were loaded onto ships for transport. Jamal had filled him in on what some people had done. He hadn’t painted a pretty picture.
First, you sneak onto the undercarriage of a truck when no one is looking. The ports are busy so you have to do it when the truck driver and the guards are distracted. Then you have to stay there, not moving, until the truck is loaded onto the ship. When it is on the ship, you have to be completely still and quiet, however long the ride is. The tricky part is then at the final port where you have to get off the boat without anyone noticing.
Somewhere between Intikal and the port city, Saleem had decided he would try to make his own way across. Smugglers were too risky, and he couldn’t afford to lose all his money when he still had so much farther to go.
Saleem got off the bus and quickly ducked into a small side street to get his bearings. He discreetly scanned his surroundings for any signs of uniforms. He needed to get to the port. It was already afternoon and unlikely that he could sneak onto a truck today, but it would be best if he could find a secure place nearby to spend the night.
He asked a shop owner for directions to the port, and he was directed to yet another bus. The local bus, much smaller, took him to where the town met the ocean. He saw the same massive ships docked and smaller ones floating by piers with groups of people walking on
and off. With guards, crews, and passengers milling about, making a mad dash for the ramp was not a feasible plan.