Ekin seemed surprised by his reaction. After a moment she stood, reached into her dress pocket, and pulled out a packet of two small sugar cookies. She tossed the packet onto the crate and walked out of the barn without saying a word.
Saleem, furious, could think only that he would be hungry for the rest of the day. The half sandwich she’d left him was not much sustenance, and there was no use complaining to Polat or his wife. He threw the rake to the ground and shoved the half sandwich into his mouth. He looked the sugar cookies over and wondered what they meant as he scarfed them down.
Ekin did not venture out into the fields, but Saleem could feel her eyes on him from a distance, watching him pick tomatoes as she pretended to read a book. The Armenian woman noticed Ekin’s presence too and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. She put two fingers to her lips and shook her head. She pointed to the six rows of tomato plants left to harvest and patted her pocket.
Say nothing, she was telling him. Get back to work and earn your money.
Saleem knew it was sound advice. As a young child, he’d seldom worried about money. If he did think about money, it was to wonder if he had enough to pay for a piece of candy or a soda in the market. They were far from wealthy, but Padar-jan made sure they had plenty. After his death, Madar-jan rationed their savings and meted out small allowances for groceries and the absolute essentials. Saleem knew they had little, but it never occurred to him that their funds would dry up entirely. Now that he was passing his wages over to his mother, he understood that they were financially in a very precarious position.
There are too many of us, Saleem thought on the truck ride home. He recalled the thick envelope of cash his mother had traded Abdul Rahim for the documents. The price of documents, food, and smuggling fees multiplied by four left the Waziri family with little reserve. Samira was too young to realize how hard Saleem worked every day. She stayed home and helped Madar-jan with chores but only when Hayal wasn’t catching her up on school lessons. Aziz was even needier.
Saleem regretted his thoughts. He loved his sister and brother very much, but the frustration and fatigue was beginning to wear him thin.
Every day, his mother needed more of him. Saleem ignored his desire to curl up against her. There was no room for him to be a child. Saleem still ached for his father, but he often thought it was Padar-jan’s decisions that had put their lives in danger. On other sleepless nights, Saleem lamented his childhood mischief and the disappointment he’d caused his father. He was a kaleidoscope of feelings when it came to his parents.
And now Saleem was the breadwinner. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like the head of their family and the less he felt like taking orders from others. Mr. Polat kept his burgeoning adolescent ego in check but when it came to his mother, Saleem’s tongue was loosening. He said things he would not have dared to say a year ago. He shot her looks he knew were out of line, but he gave himself latitude to do so. He worked long hours, kept the family fed, and wanted his opinions respected.
He returned to the Yilmaz home to find his mother cleaning the kitchen. Samira and the baby were already asleep.
“Are they all right?” he asked, slumping into the chair.
“They’re fine. Aziz’s eyes look for you, though,” she offered with a weak smile. She slid a plate of food in front of him and sat with him while he ate. Things were not fine, he knew, but she wasn’t going to burden her young son with her worries. He was doing enough.
It was good to be cared for, Saleem thought, as he fell onto the floor cushion and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 21
Fereiba
“WHY IS HE ALWAYS SICK?” SALEEM ASKED. HE’D WALKED IN TO find me sponge-bathing his baby brother. Aziz was pale and whimpering. He’d vomited twice already.