Saleem chewed his lip as he paced. Though he’d not yet decided if he would follow the others, his legs were restless too.
“Maybe they are. But maybe they’re not,” Saleem said. In a snap decision, he ran into the shack he shared with Ajmal, got his backpack, and pulled the straps over his shoulders.
“Wish me luck, brother. Who knows? Maybe I’ll come back. But I need to at least try.”
At quarter past eleven, with a pale, orange moon hanging low in the sky, the boys, a straggling crowd of a hundred, began their walk to the tunnel. They fractured into small groups, speaking in whispers and occasional laughs to break the tense mood. Most were grim and silent.
Saleem rushed to catch up with the stragglers. The path was familiar to him. He’d sat on the hilltop and stared at the tunnel entrance several times but never worked up the nerve to approach it. The boys reached a line of metal fences. The links were broken in two or three spots, inviting further trespass. Like the others, Saleem scraped through, wincing as the fence clawed at his back.
The tunnel entrance, concrete bored through the base of a grassy plain, was a valley flanked by verdant hillsides. There were open-mouthed entries for trains moving in either direction, a network of tracks leading into the black holes. A narrow, graded median divided the train entry from that of the automobiles. The valley, as a whole, was a bed of metal, pavement, and concrete, set aglow by rows of sodium lamps.
There were few cars on the road tonight.
Saleem let the others lead the way. The walk here had been long. He rubbed his hands together to warm them. He was grateful for the parka he’d been given by one of the men in the camp. Dark shadows jogged toward the entrance, watching for guards, lights, or sirens. The night was still.
Go with them. They’ll be in England soon. This is that chance.
Two or three at a time, they filtered into the tunnel and disappeared from view. Saleem stood behind a tree and watched from the vantage point of a boy unnerved. Frustrated, he punched at the bark.
Enough of this. I am going to follow them.
And just as he resolved to push aside his fears and grab the low-lying fruit, the shouts rang out. White lights broke the soft orange haze. Three police cars peeled into view and screeched to a stop by the entrance. Flashlights led the way.
Saleem’s heart dropped. There were so many. For hours, it continued. Men were led out, their hands tied behind their backs, their feet dragging with disappointment. The boys had considered the possibility that a few would be caught, but it was much worse. They’d rounded up at least half by Saleem’s count. Everything those boys had done, all the money they’d paid and the risks they’d faced and the cold nights they’d endured—all of it had been in vain.
The others would likely be caught on the other side by the British authorities. What would become of them? Would they be given the chance to apply for asylum or would they be shuttled back to France?
Tonight had not been the right night to chase the moon. When all but one police car had finally left the scene, Saleem turned around and hiked back to the Jungle.
CHAPTER 55
Fereiba
NAJIBA-JAN HAS BEEN GOOD TO US. I CAN SEE THE LOOK ON HER husband’s face. Hameed would like nothing more than for us to be gone. Germany offers much better benefits to its refugees, he says, though he has no good explanation for why he does not want to move there himself.
I learned slowly, once I met them, that my sister had no idea he had discouraged us from coming to England. She’d even saved up some money and set it aside so that we would have something for food and clothing, until we were able to file the right papers and apply for asylum.