“What?”
But there was no time for her to clarify. A man in a black leather jacket stormed out of the car, slamming the driver’s-side door as he came out. He grabbed Mimi’s arm away from Saleem and asked her something in a language Saleem did not understand. Unsatisfied with her answer, he tightened his grip and tried to rattle the truth out of her. She pleaded with him.
“What are you doing with this girl?” the man snarled, turning his attention to Saleem. His dark, cold eyes narrowed. He stood a few inches taller than Saleem and was a good thirty pounds heavier. His unshaven face only intimidated Saleem more.
“I . . . I . . . I was talking,” Saleem stuttered, before remembering what Mimi had whispered to him.
“Talking for what?”
“I want to ask her . . . because I want to . . .” Saleem faltered.
“Do you want her?” he said casually.
“Y-y-yes,” Saleem said with as much conviction as he could muster. Mimi looked nervously from Saleem to the man.
“Good. Let me see money.”
Saleem panicked. His money was in the pouch hidden at his waist. He could not take out a few bills to show this man without having the man see that he had more and he could not risk losing everything.
“I . . . I do not have . . .”
The man had let go of Mimi and was squeezing Saleem’s chin and cheeks with a single, pressing hand, a viselike grip.
“No money?”
“No,” Saleem squeaked through his mashed lips. The grip tightened.
“No money, eh?” He turned to Mimi and yelled something at her. Before she could begin to explain, his hand clapped against her face. She reeled backward. Saleem thrust his hands out toward her, but he now had the man’s full attention.
“You wasting my girl’s time?” He struck Saleem with the same vicious blow. Saleem staggered and tried to get his bearings, but the second and third blows came too quickly.
There was no arguing with his rage.
Pointed boots landed on Saleem’s back, his stomach, and his ribs. He heard Mimi scream. He tried to cower, to cover his stomach from the blows. His breath was short. He felt pavement against his cheek, cold and rough. And then it stopped.
Saleem crawled away, coughing and sputtering on his knees. Mimi’s cries faded. He dragged himself to a corner and lay behind a pile of cardboard boxes.
Please let it be over.
Saleem closed his eyes and gave in to the dark.
CHAPTER 49
Saleem
WHY DIDN’T I FIGHT BACK? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?
Saleem was almost as furious with himself as he was with Mimi’s pimp. It was morning. His body screamed in protest as he hobbled his way to a corner store and bought something he could sip through his swollen, split lips. The store owner, taking him for a hooligan, took his money scornfully. He shook his head, disappointed in his country for not keeping the troublemakers out.
After finding his way to the train station, Saleem looked for schedules and routes that would take him into France. He felt the eyes of a police officer on his back. In a moment, Saleem had expertly melted into the crowd, leaving the officer to shake his head and return to the opposite side of the station.
SALEEM GRAPPLED EACH DAY WITH THE POSSIBILITY THAT HE might not make it to England. Taken with his experience within the first few days of arriving in Italy, he felt desperate to try something. But he was tired—fatigued as if his veins carried lead instead of blood. He was tired of having nothing to eat and tired of worrying about money. He was tired of watching over his shoulder. Leaving Kabul may have been a mistake after all. Things might have gotten better.
Saleem did not hear the click of heels nearing him. He’d nodded off with his back against the side of a building. In the recessed streets of Italy’s capital, someone recognized his battered face.
“Saleem.”
He opened his eyes to spy two knees with scrapes like skid marks. Mimi crouched beside him, her voice hushed.