Saleem channeled his anger and focused on the work he had to do. He didn’t bother to look up and see the expression on Ekin’s face. He did not see her eyes water or the way she bit her lip or slipped away trembling. Dig, pull, lift. Dig, pull, lift. He swung the hoe because it was all he could do.
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.