“I know it is not easy to be in Attiki.” Attiki was a nice way of saying homeless. “And I thought . . . I just wanted to say that if you want, you can come to my house this weekend for a proper bath. I thought it might make you feel better.”
Saleem’s face lit up. He turned to look at her directly. Under the glow of the streetlamp, Saleem could see Roksana’s face blush.
“My mother and father will be away from home for some time this weekend. If you want, you can come for an hour.”
He wondered if he should accept her offer. Her parents would not know of his visit. What if they came home unexpectedly? Was this worth the risk? He looked at Roksana again. That perfect curve of her lips, the quiet rebellion in her eyes. Yes, it was definitely worth it.
“That is very nice. Please, yes.”
Roksana nodded and pointed to a building down the street. She told him to make note of the green awning out front. He was to come by on Saturday afternoon. She wrote the apartment number down on another piece of paper and gave it to Saleem. She got up to leave.
“It is late.” She turned around again, as an afterthought. “Saleem, you won’t say anything to the others in Attiki, will you? We are not . . . I mean the people from the organization . . . we’re not supposed to have contact with . . . our work is supposed to stay only in Attiki. You understand?”
Saleem nodded. He had no intention of sharing any of this with the guys in the park. The evil eye always lurked in shallow waters, and this was just the thing to draw it to the surface.
He watched her adjust the strap of her messenger bag and walk away. He could not turn his gaze from the synchronized sway of her hair and hips, a gentle femininity.
SATURDAY WAS THREE DAYS AWAY. SALEEM RESTED HIS HEAD that night, picturing himself walking into Roksana’s home. He closed his eyes and dreamed.
In his dream, he was in their bathroom. Warm water cascaded down his head and shoulders. His skin felt light. He caught a palmful of water in his cupped hands and brought it to his lips. Swathed in a towel, he stepped into a large, vacuous room, dark enough that he could not make out the walls. Roksana approached him in jeans that celebrated every adolescent curve. She smiled, touched his wet shoulders, and wiped beads of water from his chest. She pulled him closer.
Saleem woke up abruptly. He bolted upright. It was pitch-dark.
He remembered he was in the square, on the steps of an old building with Abdullah snoring a few feet away. He’d been dreaming. He felt the familiar but still uncomfortable feeling of being aroused and leaned his head back, waiting for it to disappear.
But then he sensed something else.
As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the bulky shape of a man crouched over his feet. Saleem recognized the silhouette. It was Saboor.
“What do you want?” Saleem blurted.
“You must have been having a good dream,” Saboor whispered. Saleem could hear the smirk in his voice.
Saleem positioned himself. His hand flew to his side to confirm his monies were untouched. He’d wrapped his bills in a rag and pinned the bundle to his underpants, the most secure place he could think to keep it. He felt the lump nudge against his groin.
“What do you want?” Saleem asked again.
Abdullah’s snoring went on uninterrupted.
Saboor smelled of stale sweat. Saleem could feel his meaty hand on his shin, then sliding up to his knee. His touch made Saleem jump. They were standing, staring eye to eye.
“Just wanted to make sure you are sleeping well, my dear boy.” He chuckled. “Now you can go back to your dreams and I will go back to mine.” Saleem watched his figure slip away quietly in the darkness, through a maze of bodies, as he made his way back to his own makeshift tent.