This was a new chore that Mr. Polat had assigned to Saleem as it required more effort than the woman could have mustered. The barn sheltered two donkeys, three goats, and a few chickens. The air was heavy and rank with the smell of dung and wet fleece. Saleem had never tended to animals before, and the odors seared his nostrils. He dreaded those days when Mr. Polat tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the barn, a rake in his hand. Polat took a few moments to point out what needed to be done and walked out.
Saleem raked the moist hay and soil into the wheelbarrow and carted it off to a corner of the farm where the manure would eventually compost. The stench clung to his clothing and skin. Saleem kept to himself on the bus in the evening, knowing he turned noses on his way home.
While Saleem breathed through his mouth, Ekin would wander idly past the open barn doors, again and again. She began to clear her throat as she passed by. Soon, she began to sit on a crate in the corner, a casual observer to his work. How or why she stomached the smell baffled Saleem. One day, she began to speak to him in broken, elementary-level English.
“Not good,” she observed. “Still dirty.”
“I am not finished,” Saleem answered, keeping his eyes on the ground. He doubted a Turkish father would be much different from an Afghan one when it came to his daughters. He wanted no problems with Polat. Ekin had a tall tumbler of water in her hand. She gulped loudly.
The barn’s dust had dried his tongue and airways. The sound of her drinking made him furious but he said nothing.
“What is your name?” When she did not get a response, Ekin repeated her question, louder and annoyed. “I said, what is your name?”
“Saleem,” he mumbled.
“Saleem?” Ekin played with her stringy hair. She picked through the ends, her fingers getting locked in the knots. “This is name for old man. Why you have old man name?”
Saleem’s lips tightened.
“Why you not clean there? It will still smell if you do not clean this. The animals will be sick. My father will not be happy.”
Saleem remained tight-lipped, finished as quickly as he could, and returned to the fields where the Armenian woman raised an eyebrow and nodded in the direction of the barn. When he shook his head in frustration, she smiled. They were beginning to understand each other.
A WEEK LATER, EKIN SAW SALEEM MAKE HIS WAY INTO THE BARN. She followed after, turned the crate over, and sat on it, stretching her legs out before her.
“The summer is too hot. I am in the house all day. It is too long! School is better. Better to see my friends.”
Saleem’s silence was not a deterrent.
“Here, there is nothing. I cannot talk to my friends. I am alone.” She paused. “You do not go to school so you do not know. Have you been to a school?”
Saleem raked harder.
“I know the work people do not go to school. But my father and mother say I must learn so I will not be a worker. They say I must be a schoolgirl and be clean, have a nice life. Why you do not talk? It is good you are not in school. In school the teachers say you must talk!” She laughed, tapping her heels on the straw-covered floor.
Mrs. Polat’s voice rang out. Ekin stood with a heavy sigh. She brushed the straw off the seat of her pants and left the barn, throwing Saleem a curious look on her way out. Saleem was thankful for the reprieve. A few moments with Ekin was more exhausting than a fourteen-hour workday. But before he could fully enjoy the silence, she returned with his lunch sandwich in her hand.
“Here,” Ekin called out from the barn door. She paused and looked down at the sandwich in her hands. She brought it to her face, so close that Saleem could see her nose brush against the meat. “It is good. We can eat together?”
Ekin sat on the crate and just as Saleem walked over to claim his sandwich, she carefully pulled it into two pieces and handed him half. Saleem watched angrily as the bread and chicken disappeared between her teeth.
“This food is for me,” he objected.
“But we eat together,” Ekin replied, confused. “Like friends, okay?”
“No. No. No. Not okay!” Saleem’s back ached. His fingertips burned, and his stomach growled angrily.