Refugee 87 Read online

  “Go where?”

  “You have to leave the country.”

  Her words don’t make sense. “What about your business? What about school?”

  “Shif, school is not important compared with your freedom. As for my business, that doesn’t matter, either. The truth is that you’ll be going without me and Lemlem.”

  I feel as if the world is spinning around me, breaking into fragments while I stand in the middle, watching, unable to stop it.

  “I’m not leaving without you,” I say.

  My mother looks around the room as if the explanation I need is buzzing around it somewhere like a wasp.

  “Shif, you must go. I don’t yet have enough money saved for all of us to leave. You’re the one in immediate danger, so you must go first. I’ve arranged everything. Some men will come for you and Bini tomorrow. Saba and I first got in touch with them two years ago. They’re smugglers—their job is to get people out of the country. They’ll take you to the border and then you’ll be met by other contacts who can take you north to the coast, where you’ll take a boat to Europe. Everything will be paid for before you go, but you must memorize my phone number and Uncle Batha’s number in case you need more money in an emergency. There are other numbers you must try to memorize, too—of our friends in England. As soon as you’ve gone, I’ll begin to save for me and Lemlem. We’ll be fine. We’ll join you in six months, maybe a little longer.”

  I want to say no. I want to point out a flaw in her logic, but I can’t think of a single thing to say. There is nothing solid upon which to base my thoughts anymore.

  I think about leaving Mom and Lemlem, going so far away that we’ll be separated by other countries, by seas, by mountains. We’ve never spent a single day apart. I feel my chest heaving and brush away tears before they run down my cheeks.

  Mom stands up and pulls me toward her. She hugs me tightly, then pushes me gently away so she can see my face. “You must pack tonight,” she says quietly. “A warm pullover, one change of clothes, some bread, water, and money. I’ll sew the money into your shoes, just enough to buy some food.”

  “So Bini is coming with me? Has Saba told him yet?” I ask.

  “She’s talking to him tonight. You and Bini will leave together. You must look after each other. The journey will be much safer with two of you.”

  “What about Dad? He’s alive. If I leave this country, I’ll never see him again.”

  My mother doesn’t answer at first. She places a warm hand against my cheek.

  “If you don’t leave, you won’t see any of us again. I’ve told Lemlem that you’ve passed your exams early so you’re starting your military training early, too. I don’t want to frighten her. Pack now, then we’ll eat together.”

  Lemlem bounces back into the room, clutching some bright threads.

  In a daze, I open the wooden cupboard. The same wooden cupboard I open every morning and evening. I look at my four T-shirts and decide which ones to take. Suddenly four seems like luxury. I pack some underwear, a pullover, and my chess set. I take a plastic bottle from the yard and fill it with water. I stuff it all into my small fabric duffel bag and leave it at the foot of my bed.

  “Can I go and see Bini?” I ask.

  “No. Please stay inside now until tomorrow. We don’t want to attract any attention. Anyway, Saba will want to spend this evening with Bini, and I want to spend it with you.”

  I want to walk out of my house, then come back and find that everything is the same as it was a week ago. I wonder whether Saba has told Bini yet. I wonder how I will know. Will there be shouting? Of course not. But will he just accept what she says, as I did, or will he refuse to go? It feels as if the course of my life, which had seemed so certain, is shifting like sand beneath my feet and might just suck me under.

  We sit down to eat as if it’s any other evening. My mouth feels dry, but I force myself to chew and swallow. There might be no hot meal tomorrow. Tomorrow I won’t be sitting here with Mom and Lemlem.

  I look over at my little sister happily shoveling stew-soaked injera into her mouth. I won’t cry in front of her. She notices me staring.

  “Can I come and visit when you’re at military school?” Lemlem asks.

  “Yes, of course,” I say. “You’re going to start school soon, Lemlem. What do you want to learn about?”

  “I want to learn about horses,” she says.

  “Horses are very important. Make sure you learn everything there is to know about horses, then I’ll ask you about them when you visit.”

  “Okay,” she says shyly.

  I try to keep my voice steady. “And look after Mom while I’m away.”

  Snatch

  I don’t know what time it is or what woke me. It’s dark, and I can hear Mom and Lemlem breathing steadily beside me.

  I hear feet moving on the gravel outside, then a knock at the door. Silence. Then loud hammering at the door.

  Lemlem cries out, and Mom picks her up and moves to the back of the room.

  “Who is it?” she calls calmly, while motioning to me to keep quiet.

  “Where’s your son?” replies the voice.

  “He’s in the hospital,” Mom answers.

  “Which hospital?” the voice asks.

  She pauses.

  There’s the sound of something heavy hitting the door, which moves in its frame. Lemlem screams. Another bang, and the door swings open, smashing against the wall. An oblong of moonlight fills the floor.

  Two soldiers in pale-green uniforms enter, standing still for a heartbeat while their eyes adjust to the gloom. Their eyes fix on me and they cross the room in what seems like no more than two steps.

  “Put on your shoes. Your military service starts tomorrow.”

  “But I’m only fourteen,” I hear myself saying.

  “Put on your shoes,” repeats the soldier closer to me.

  His eyes move to the bag at the bottom of my bed. He looks inside it: clothes, food, water.

  “For school tomorrow,” my mother says.

  “He takes spare clothes to school? And a chess set? Were you planning on going somewhere?” the soldier asks me.

  “No,” I reply, realizing immediately that I should say nothing.

  The soldier nearer the door takes out his phone and goes outside to make a call.

  I put on my shoes.

  Mom rocks Lemlem, who is whimpering.

  Maybe one minute later, maybe ten minutes later, the second soldier comes back inside.

  “Your friend next door has packed a bag, too,” he says, then goes outside and talks on the phone some more.

  “Say good-bye to your family,” says the remaining soldier.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I say, hugging Mom. I kneel down to hug my sister. “Remember to learn about horses for me, Lemlem.” This time I cannot stop the tears from falling.

  Outside is an old truck. In the back of the truck is Bini.

  His mother is in the doorway to the house. I can see that she is crying, too. My mother stays in the house with Lemlem.

  Without my bag, without anything, I climb up the footboard and into the back of the truck. Apart from some metal bars the sides of the truck are open. The cold night air filters in, and as the truck revs and pulls away, I watch as my home slides past beneath the bars and disappears into the darkness behind.

  I sit next to Bini, but right away the soldier yanks me up by the arm and pushes me over to the opposite side of the truck.

  “Do you have anything—” Bini starts to speak.

  “Shut up,” the soldier says. “No talking.”

  I do not want to cry. I want to fold into myself, and keep folding until I disappear into a tiny dot that can drift in the wind back toward Mom and Lemlem. I can’t see Bini’s face properly in the shadow cast by the roof canopy. I cannot speak to him, either. But I am so grateful he is here.

  There are two of us. We will look after each other.

  Journey

  We sit i
n silence as the truck whines and rumbles through the center of the deserted city. The streetlamps cast pools of yellow light on the tarmac. As we reach the edge of town, the streetlamps become fewer and then disappear altogether. A new darkness descends, with smells of the dirt in the fields and of goats and sheep. The buildings are no longer square and smooth but scattered and round with straw roofs.

  I desperately want to talk to Bini. Just to see if my voice still works. To see if I’m still me. Bini gets there first, of course.

  “How was the test?” he asks quietly.

  “No talking,” one of the soldiers snaps.

  Then I notice for the first time that Bini’s lip is swollen and some dried blood is on his chin. He sees me looking and rubs at it gently with the top of his T-shirt.

  After four or five hours, the horizon grows lighter. Later, the sun rises directly behind the truck, spreading a warm orange glow across our cold faces. We are heading west. My stomach begins to growl. My body doesn’t seem to realize that the world is no longer the same.

  As the sun climbs higher in the sky, it beats down on the canvas roof of the truck. Now I am grateful for the open sides, even though the dust makes my eyes sore and dries out my nose and mouth. I can see the landscape growing flatter. Yellow fields interrupt rocky hills, and the road has become nothing but bumps and dust.

  “Is there water?” I ask. My first words, and my voice sounds whispery and hoarse.

  The soldier looks slowly toward me, then away. “No water,” he says.

  My hunger begins to fade as my thirst intensifies. Soon all I can think about is bottles of water, of sipping cool water from a glass. I can imagine it vividly, which only makes the yearning worse. I do not ask again.

  Hell

  We drive until dusk. I hear low voices near the front of the truck. The passenger door slams shut and we move slowly forward, then stop again.

  The back of the truck opens, revealing three guards with rifles.

  “Out!” shouts the one in the middle.

  I jump from the back of the truck. My legs collapse beneath me—they have been bent for so long.

  Bini jumps down beside me. “Stand up,” he whispers.

  The sun has nearly set, but I can see that we are in some kind of compound. There are a few buildings. There is also some kind of thick fence or boundary that disappears into the dusky light. Beyond the boundary I see nothing but flat desert. I scramble quickly to my feet.

  “Stay close,” I whisper. I don’t turn my head and neither does Bini, but I know that he’s heard me.

  I try not to shiver at the temperature drop. The buildings look like oblong metal boxes, each the size of a small house. The sides have a pattern of ridges. There are no windows and no obvious door. I wonder what they’re for.

  “Move. That way,” the nearest guard says, pointing toward the second metal box.

  Bini starts walking toward it and I follow, afraid to be more than a few feet away from my only connection with reality.

  The guard bends down and shifts a huge bolt near the ground; the entire front of the metal box opens up as two doors swing back, and a terrible smell of sweat, dirty toilets, and something else wafts out from inside. I clamp my hand over my nose and mouth. Although it’s too dark to see, I can sense there is something living inside the box. The guard pushes us toward the gaping entrance. Bini and I look at each other in horror.

  We stumble over a step into the stinking darkness. The doors slam shut behind us, reverberating around the metal walls and ceiling and up through my feet.

  I reach out and find Bini’s arm.

  “Don’t move,” he whispers. “Wait until your eyes adjust to the darkness.”

  I hear breathing. I can hear breathing all around me and the sliding of limbs. I focus on my own breath, in and out, my heart pounding in my chest.

  “Who’s there?” Bini asks after a couple of minutes.

  “Shut up and sit down,” replies a weak, rasping voice. “Don’t waste energy.” The owner of the voice sounds as if they are well practiced in not wasting energy.

  “Stop using up the oxygen,” says another voice, deeper and unfriendly.

  There is an electric buzzing noise and a neon strip flickers above, filling the box with a sickly white light. Suddenly the voices have bodies, too. Sitting around the edge are maybe fifteen men, with blankets draped around their shoulders. One corner is empty except for a bucket from which the rotten stench emanates, making my empty stomach roll.

  We look around the room, searching for clues to explain where we are. Whatever Mom said about military school being bad, I know this is not military school.

  “Where are we?” asks Bini.

  “Your new home,” says the man with the deeper voice. He is hunched on the floor but I can see that he is a big man; large hands pin the blanket to his knees. “I hope you like it,” he adds. His eyes swivel up to look at us, and I can see a deep gash under his left eye.

  “Stop it, Nebay,” rasps an older man. The one who told us to sit down. His face is thin and grayish. His shoulders and knees seem to poke through his blanket, making him look as if he’s made of wire, not bone. “Sit down,” he repeats.

  Bini walks to a small space between the foul- smelling bucket and the old man. I follow him and sit down.

  “I’m Bini,” he says quietly, looking at the older man.

  “Yonas. And who’s this?” asks the man, looking at me.

  “This is my friend Shif.”

  Yonas nods slowly, reflecting on our names.

  “So what did you and your friend do to end up here?” asks the old man.

  “We did nothing,” says Bini automatically.

  You don’t share personal information with strangers. Even if you are locked in a box with them.

  “Everybody in here has done something,” says Nebay. “Even though ‘something’ is normally nothing.”

  Bini looks at me.

  I shake my head. I don’t understand what he means, either.

  On the opposite side of the room from the bucket, I see a plastic bowl and cup.

  “Can we have some water?” I ask, surprised at how small and echoey my voice sounds in the metal box.

  “So he can talk after all,” says Nebay.

  “Help yourself to water,” says Yonas, “but don’t have much. That has to last us until the morning.”

  I fill the cup but cannot stop at one sip. I pour some for Bini, then sit back down. As I look around the room, I see two men who could be eighteen or nineteen. The rest look older, the same age as Mom, apart from Yonas, who seems ancient. They are all staring at Bini and me with slow steady gazes. As if we are a television.

  “No one new has joined us for almost a year,” says Nebay, reading my thoughts. “We haven’t had much in the way of entertainment since the radio broke.”

  A few of the other men roll their eyes and I understand that he is joking.

  Despite the fetid air, the temperature inside the box is starting to drop, too. I want the guards to come back and take us to our real destination. I cannot believe they would leave us in this place for long. Perhaps they are trying to frighten us.

  I know the men can hear every word that I say, so I choose them carefully.

  “Bini,” I whisper as quietly as I can, “what do you think this place is?”

  “I don’t know. But they asked what we’d done so it must be some kind of prison.”

  “Are you cold?” I whisper.

  “Freezing,” he answers. “We have to eat something.”

  My stomach rumbles painfully and I remember that I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.

  “Will there be food?” Bini asks Nebay.

  “There will be two bread rolls each. It’s the same every evening. That will be your food until tomorrow lunchtime, when it’s soup. The guards will come soon. After that they will turn out the lights in here. Then it will be so dark you cannot even see your hand in front of your face, so have another look
around and make sure you know where the bucket is. Whatever you do, don’t piss on anyone in the night. You can share this blanket for now,” he says, nodding to one of the younger men on the other side of the room, who peels the thin green blanket from around his shoulders and throws it halfheartedly toward Bini and me, then pulls a corner of the blanket on the man next to him over his knees.

  “Thank you,” says Bini. “We have nothing but the clothes we’re wearing.”

  “We all keep our suitcases in the room next door,” says Nebay sarcastically.

  Yonas sighs, a loud raspy sigh.

  Talking seems to exhaust them. Both Yonas and Nebay rest their heads on their knees.

  “Is this a prison?” Bini asks.

  “You should follow your friend’s example and talk less,” says Nebay.

  After a minute or so, Yonas answers, “You’re in a detention center for dangerous criminals.”

  “But we’re not dangerous or criminals,” says Bini.

  “Do you think we’re dangerous?” asks the old man, gesturing to the rest of the men in the box.

  Bini and I look at the figures lining the walls.

  They stare back at us.

  Yonas turns to speak again, but before he can begin, there is a huge bang, followed by a creaking sound and the rush of cold air.

  Three soldiers stand by the entrance. Behind them the sky is dark blue—it is almost night.

  One soldier holds a basket of bread rolls, which he places on the floor near the door.

  A second soldier tosses a blanket toward us, just missing the bucket. He peers inside.

  “You.” He points to me. “You are detainee eighty-seven. You are eighty-eight.” He points to Bini. “Remember your numbers.”

  Then he steps back and, with the help of the other two guards, swings the doors shut again, sliding the bolt down with a clang.