“Saleem, Kamal’s family moved away after that wedding. They are gone. But I have another friend nearby who may be able to help. I’ll go to his house and see if he can help find something. But first, tell me everything you remember about this hotel.”
Saleem wrote out the hotel’s name and the cross streets as best as he could remember. While Hakan left to search out the number, Hayal prepared a much needed bath for Saleem.
Warm water relaxed his neck but not his mind. He could not stay here forever. He had to get back to Greece.
He put on the clothes Hayal had laid out for him, a pair of pants and a shirt her sons had outgrown and left behind. Hakan returned with good news. He’d been able to track down the phone number of the hotel on the Internet. Saleem, who’d been nodding off on their sofa, was suddenly awake and ecstatic.
“I must call! I must call now! Maybe they are there!”
“I know,” Hakan smiled, but he seemed hesitant. “I have a calling card. We can try the number now but . . . but Saleem, you must remember it is possible that they have taken the train. They may not be there and that does not mean something bad.”
Saleem nodded. He was glad he was not making this call by himself. Whether or not he was able to reach them, he would need someone to turn to when he hung up the phone.
Hakan read the instructions on the back of the card and dialed the string of numbers until they were finally connected. He handed the phone to Saleem, whose knuckles blanched as he listened to the trill of the phone ringing on the other end.
A click, a throat cleared, and some mumbling.
Saleem recognized the old man’s voice.
“Please! I need to speak to my mother. Is my mother there?” His words were a jumble of English, Turkish, and Farsi, an emotional short circuit between his thoughts and his tongue.
“Who is this?” The voice on the line was confused, suspicious. Hakan put a hand on Saleem’s elbow. Slow down, he motioned. Saleem took a deep breath and focused his English.
“Please, my name is Saleem. I was staying at the hotel with my mother. I need to speak to my mother. She is there with my brother and sister!”
“Ah, the boy! Your mother looks for you. She is in room. Maybe you call back later. Now I am busy.”
“No, I cannot call later. Please, my mother. I must speak to her now!” The old man detected the desperation in his voice.
“Okay, okay.” He muttered something in Greek that Saleem did not understand.
The silence was interminable. Hakan and Hayal watched Saleem’s face anxiously.
Fereiba’s voice crackled through the receiver. Saleem leaped to his feet and, like a tethered animal, paced as far as the coiled line would allow.
“Saleem? Saleem, bachem? Is it you?” Her voice trembled.
“Yes, Madar-jan,” he said. “It is me.”
“Bachem, where are you? Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried!”
“I’m in Intikal, Madar-jan, with Kaka Hakan and Khala-jan. The police caught me and sent me back to Turkey.”
“The police? Oh God, you are in Turkey!” Madar-jan’s mind was racing as she processed the implications of this news. “Are you all right? Were you hurt?”
“I’m all right, Madar-jan. I’ll find a way back to Greece, but I don’t know how long it will take.”
It was not so much that they needed to make a painful decision but rather that a painful decision had been made for them. Saleem spoke first.
“Madar-jan, you have the passports and the train tickets. Take Samira and Aziz and get yourselves to England as soon as possible. I have to find a way to get back and it may not be soon enough since I don’t have my papers. But if you wait for me, Aziz might get worse.”