Roksana wanted to know everything that had happened. Madar-jan had told her something about the police, but she hadn’t shared much more beyond that.
Saleem recounted the whole story for her while she listened intently. She bit her lip and shook her head as he described the way the police had kicked him around before letting him loose in Turkey. It felt good to finally be able to talk about it with someone like her, someone who listened and didn’t think he’d had it coming.
“Saleem, this is bad. You have to do something. You can’t get stuck here like all these other guys,” Roksana warned, her eyes on the rest of the Afghans shifting aimlessly through the park. “You need to find a better way. I wish you at least had that passport I mailed to you. I’m sure it was stolen. You can’t even trust a damn envelope to get from here to there without someone going through it.”
“It’s gone. I must go to Italy with no passport. It will not be easy.”
“No, and it’s very dangerous.” Roksana thought it over. “Maybe you can get another passport. But . . . it’s a little risky.”
“A passport? From where?” Saleem looked at her curiously.
“They are costly, I think. For a European passport—maybe hundreds of euros,” she said, though she sounded unsure. “I don’t really know but some of the guys here might.”
Saleem had money and told Roksana as much.
“Keep your money hidden away, Saleem. Maybe it’s better if you don’t say anything to the boys here,” she warned, nodding in the direction of the others. “Fake papers don’t always work anyway.”
It struck Saleem that a girl like Roksana should have nothing to do with Attiki Square, a jungle of cement and weeds, framed by buildings and deceptively serene trees. Men lazed on sheets of cardboard. It looked more like a corner of war-ravaged Afghanistan than a peaceful European nation. Roksana should have run in the opposite direction but she didn’t. It was a curious thing.
“Why do you do this, Roksana?” he asked pensively. She said nothing, letting his question melt into the silence between them.
Saleem looked up at her. What did she see? Did she see his clothes or his stringy hair? Did she see a friend or a refugee case? Saleem hadn’t known what to expect from Europe, but it surely wasn’t this. He hadn’t expected to be tossed about and under threat every step of the way. If Roksana was trying to undo what had been done to him and his family thus far, there was a long way to go.
Before she could answer his question, one of the other volunteers waved her over. They needed her help.
“Where are you going to stay tonight?” The edge in her tone returned. She was back to business. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?”
Saleem shook his head. Maybe Roksana was here because he was that person who could make her feel selfless and giving. Maybe it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. Something bitter took root within him though he didn’t know why and he wasn’t proud of it.
“No, I will stay here.”
Roksana nodded, then stood up and brushed her backside with her hands. Saleem had no way of knowing how many times she’d asked herself the same question. Why bother to come here? Why bother doing anything for one refugee when a thousand more were on their way in?
She could have walked away from him for good. She could have lumped him in with the others. But she didn’t see him the way she saw the others.
Roksana regretted that she couldn’t tell him more about his family’s whereabouts. She’d watched the train pull out of the station, but beyond that moment, anything could have happened to Fereiba and the two younger children. Anything.
CHAPTER 39
Fereiba