She rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. Saleem persisted.
“Please, I need go to England,” he pleaded. “Somewhere I can sleep for one night? Do you know?”
“I cannot help you,” she said abruptly. She spoke English but with an accent thicker and heavier than Saleem’s. She took a few steps away as a car drove by, slowed, and then sped away. She looked back in his direction, annoyed.
“Go,” she hissed. “Do not stand here!”
“Please! I come from Afghanistan. Do you know if I find more Afghans here?”
“I do not know.”
“Where are you from?” he persisted.
“Albania,” she said, her eyes wistful for a sliver of a second. “Now you go.”
Saleem had never heard of Albania. He pressed on. They were so close in age. Maybe something about Roksana gave him hope that this girl would help guide him as well, though he knew there was nothing similar about them.
She turned her back defiantly. Saleem finally relented. He circled the blocks looking for anyone else he could ask for help but it was nearly midnight and he was exhausted. He rounded the corner and found her on the same block. The two other girls eyed Saleem from afar and crossed the street, shaking their heads. The Albanian girl stole a glance in his direction and threw her head back with a huff.
“I am sorry. I just want to ask you . . . please. I need to sleep, somewhere safe. No police.”
“Please, you make problem for me. Go!” As if they had been beckoned by Saleem, blue lights twirled in the distance. The girls began to disperse.
“Police?” Saleem asked, as the fair-skinned girl hurried down the street.
“Yes,” she whispered without turning around. Saleem moved closer to the building and away from the curb. The lights stayed at a distance. He watched her go, her legs pale in the darkness. She was awkward in her heels, and in her hurry, her ankle suddenly twisted in, sending her arms flailing. She stumbled a step or two before falling to the ground. Saleem ran over to her. Her knees were badly scraped, and she held her ankle, her face in a grimace. She tried to get back on her feet, but as she put weight on her right foot, she gasped.
Saleem held her elbow as she took off her shoe. The heel had broken off. She looked as if she might burst into tears. With her shoe in her hand, she began to hobble down the street. Saleem let her arm go but quickly caught up with her when he saw how she struggled to walk. “I will help you,” he offered and quietly extended his hand. She looked at him with resignation and nodded.
“Here,” she said simply and led the way. They made a few turns down slate-colored alleys. She led him to a rusted sedan parked on a back lot. She took a key out of her purse, unlocked the door, and slid into the backseat.
“Sit,” she offered, pointing to the seat beside her. He followed, careful not to get too close. She was less standoffish now, but being alone in a car with her suddenly made Saleem uncomfortable.
“Your name?” she asked with mild interest.
“Saleem. And you?”
“Mimi.”
There was a period of silence. Mimi fidgeted and rubbed her ankle. She looked at Saleem, her brow furrowed.
“Why you come here?”
“Here?”
“Italy. Why you come to Italy?”
“I want to go to England. My family is in England.”
“Family?”
“Mother, sister, brother.”
Mimi stared out the car window. Drops of rain fell silently on the glass.
“Where is your family?” Saleem asked. Mimi rubbed her arms and shifted in the seat.
“No family,” she said abruptly.
“Oh.”
Her answer left Saleem with many more questions.
“When you come to Italy?”
“Two years,” she said. “Two years.”
“You want to stay?”
Her lips pulled together in an angry pout. “There is nothing here.”
“Where do you want to go?”