“No, stay. Samira will feel better if she wakes up to see her brother with her. You didn’t really sleep much. Stretch your legs a bit and see if you can get a bit more rest.”
Saleem was too exhausted to argue. His heavy eyes closed again. It felt like only minutes later that he heard his mother whisper into the playhouse to wake them. People were walking their children to school. The family had survived their first night on the street. Saleem wondered how many more nights would pass before they had a real roof over them again.
SALEEM COULD NOT DO MUCH IN THE EARLY MORNING. HE needed the cover of crowds to run his unlawful errands. Roksana was in school. She promised to meet him in Attiki in the afternoon. She was his only hope at this point, but when they met, he could tell from her expression that she did not have promising news for him.
“No one knows of a room. I have one possibility that I am working on, but I don’t know yet. How was the night?”
“It was all right—quiet and not too cold. It was much better than any place I would have found.” As long as they were not dragged off in handcuffs, Saleem could not ask for more.
“Saleem-jan, how are you? Enjoying a visit with your girlfriend, eh?” Jamal said in Dari. Roksana instantly shot him an icy look, her eyes narrowed. Saleem looked from her to Jamal and saw that he had noticed the same reaction.
“She’s kind to waste her time trying to help guys like us. We should show her a little respect.” Saleem had not intended to sound like he was admonishing Jamal, but he did not want to hear them talk about her in that way—even if they meant no harm by it.
“Saleem, the great defender of honor!” Jamal smiled. “Hallo, Roksana. How you are today?” he said in overenunciated English.
“Good. Get some sandwiches from Niko before they are all finished.” Her tone was flat and unamused.
Jamal, distracted by his empty stomach, did not bother to wonder if Roksana had picked up on him talking about her. He made a dash to where Niko stood with a large cardboard box. There was silence before Roksana resumed the conversation where they had left off.
“The train is the best way for you to go. Really, in Europe they do not check for passports since you will be traveling between EU countries. The borders are open now. I can go with you to the train station to buy the tickets if you want.”
“Please. It will help me very much.”
“When do you want to go?” The smudged black liner gave an edginess to her look. When she wanted, though, her eyes warmed with a smoky softness.
He had not brought enough money with him, nor did he have the passport the ticket agent would want to see. He asked Roksana to meet him the following day at the train station. In the meantime, she would continue to look for better shelter for them.
Hang on, she told him, things will get better.
IT RAINED THAT NIGHT. IT STARTED LIGHT AT FIRST, BUT THEN the drops grew heavier and slipped through the slats and into the playhouse. Saleem woke to find Madar-jan covering Aziz and Samira with what she could find, trying her best to keep their heads dry. Ten unrelenting minutes went by. Samira was wide awake, wiping rain tears from her cheeks, her bangs plastered against her head. Only Aziz remained dry, a plastic bag held over him by Madar-jan.
“Saleem-jan, take my place with Aziz. I’m going to find something better to cover us. We need to stay dry,” she said.
“I’ll go, Madar-jan. Let me do it,” he offered.
“No, bachem,” she said carefully unfolding her legs to extricate herself from the miniature house. “I need you to stay here with them. I won’t be long.”
It was torture for her to be gone. Saleem looked at his siblings. He was wholly responsible for them now. The feeling overwhelmed him. Was this how Madar-jan felt or was it different for her as their mother? If she did feel overwhelmed, she hadn’t really let on.