You must not be found again in Turkey. Find a way out and don’t come back.
Saleem stood up cautiously and nodded. He’d been freed. The officer slammed the door shut. Saleem was outside. He paused, unsure if this was some kind of trap or test. A moment passed and the door did not reopen. No one came around the corner.
Saleem took a few small steps away from the building. Still nothing happened. With a rush of adrenaline, he broke into a run. He could escape. Saleem ran down the quiet streets and ducked behind some buildings. He did not know where he was or where he was going, but he knew he wanted to get away from the police station before they changed their minds.
Saleem panted heavily with his hands on his knees. His mouth was dry and gritty as he tried to spit out the dust that coated his tongue. His stomach reeled and he spewed bile against the wall. A pain shot through his left side. He breathed deeply and waited for it to pass.
There were no footsteps behind him, no sound of running officers in pursuit. They were not looking for him, but they’d been clear that they should not find him. Saleem needed to leave this town as soon as possible. He had some money. Could he get back to Greece without a passport or any travel documents?
What should I do? Madar-jan, please tell me what I should do!
He tried to calm himself. He could feel his thoughts spinning wider and wider away from him.
Focus. Think. You can do this.
Saleem quieted his own thoughts. As the chaos in his mind relented, he heard his mother’s voice.
Find a safe place. Find food. Get back to Greece.
Saleem looked around him. There were no shops or stands. No people to approach. He was like one of the boys in Attiki now. He had stepped out of his story and into theirs, away from the privilege of a passport and family. He had no jewelry to sell and only the bills he’d kept hidden to help him get through. The journeys he’d heard of in Attiki, the survivors he’d met, haunted him.
His head began to uncloud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I must look like hell.
Saleem wound his way through the streets, looking for a busier area and the things he would need: food, shelter, and a way to get back to Intikal.
Intikal was the only place he could think to go. In Intikal, he could turn to Hakan and Hayal for help finding his mother. The thought of being in their home again brought him comfort.
Food was easy enough to find since he was desperate and tired enough to pay for it. He would need strength to continue. The shop owner frowned in disgust but accepted the sweaty euros he had pulled from his sock.
Toasted sesame bread, the cheapest food he could find, calmed his angry stomach. It was afternoon. Saleem could feel eyes boring into him and imagined fingers pointing his way. A thousand tiny drums in his head begged him to sleep.
Saleem found a public restroom and did his best to wash the filth off his face. He rinsed his body with water he cupped in both hands. He moved his left arm slowly, his side aching.
The boys in Attiki had talked about their journey into Greece. Some had taken small boats run by smugglers. Other had snuck onto trucks that were loaded onto ferries. Both ways were dangerous. Everyone had stories of people perishing in the waters or dying in the undercarriages of freight trucks. Saleem did not know where he would even find a smuggler now. It was best to make the long trip back to Intikal, regroup, and come up with a solid plan.