“I brought us here because we thought it would be safer. We thought this would be better for you. What have I done?”
Without Padar-jan around, there was no one to share the blame for the plan that had landed them in Intikal. Saleem pressed his forehead against her shoulder.
“We could not stay in Kabul, Madar-jan. We had nothing left. We were going to starve there—or worse.”
“Aziz was okay there. He was fine until we left home.” Her eyes were glossy, filled with thoughts of a rosy yesterday that existed only in her mind. “Samira wasn’t washing strangers’ dirty dishes and folding their laundry. You weren’t working your hands to a bloody mess from dusk till dawn. We were okay in Kabul, but I brought us here.”
Fereiba had wanted to keep her children healthy, fed, safe, and free from working as indentured servants. She’d failed on all accounts.
“Madar-jan, we were not okay there.” Saleem crouched in front of her, jarred by the way his mother seemed to be speaking about him and not to him. “Don’t you remember? We were scared. We had no money and couldn’t leave the house. There was barely air to breathe.”
“I wanted my children to be children. I wanted them to laugh, to play . . . to learn. I wanted them to do the things that I should have done as a girl. How far must we go? How fast must we run?”
Saleem could not find the words, much less arrange them in a way that would bring any relief. It broke him to hear his mother talk this way and to know the thoughts she was likely hiding from her children on most days. Her smiles, her cheerfulness—had it all been to make them feel reassured? Her eyes were tearless. She was not speaking out of emotion. These were thoughts that came from the most honest part of her spirit. This was the result of her careful analysis and her astute observations. This was very real.
“We’ll be okay, Madar-jan, you’ll see. This was the worst of it. We’ll get to England before you know it and we’ll be okay.” Saleem’s voice wavered. He was nowhere near as confident as his mother.
But Madar-jan’s expression changed, as if a switch turned on. Her lips tightened and her eyes focused with a glint of resolution. She pulled her shoulders back and met Saleem’s hopeful gaze.
“Yes, my son. That’s exactly it. We will go to England.” Saleem felt relieved that his mother had shaken her trancelike state. He nodded in eager agreement.
“Yes, Madar-jan, we just need to set aside a little more—”
“No, we must leave. We are leaving Intikal. We are leaving Turkey.”
“Leaving Turkey? But, Madar-jan, we haven’t—”
“God could not have sent a clearer sign. The time has come for us to continue our journey. We will thank Hakan and Hayal for their hospitality, pay whatever debts we owe, and pack our belongings. Every day that we stay here is digging ourselves into a deeper hole. If we don’t leave now, we may never go.”
Madar-jan believed in moving forward. She always had.
CHAPTER 25
Saleem
HAKAN AND HAYAL WERE ALMOST TEARFUL WHEN THE WAZIRI family left. Fereiba tried to pay Hayal for the final month of rent, but Hayal gently refused. With her heart in her throat, she told Fereiba to use the money to take care of the children. She handed Madar-jan a bag of foods she had prepared—enough to last a few days without spoiling. The mothers hugged tightly. In the months they had lived together, they’d become good friends. Hayal was the whisper in Fereiba’s ear telling her God sent miracles in unrecognizable forms. Fereiba, distracted by her circumstances, did not always recognize the voice in her ear and sometimes took it for her own. But Hayal was a true friend, lifting Fereiba without needing to be named or thanked.