Nadia Hashimi - When the Moon Is Low

“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.

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.

Samira clung to Hayal. She did not want to let go of her teacher and her friend, her source of security.

Hakan watched with leaden shoulders. He’d kept a respectable distance from Fereiba and the children. They were orphaned and vulnerable, and he did not want to transgress their privacy as he knew the rest of the world would. What they had been subject to and what they would be subject to were beyond his control. All he could do was give them a respite under his roof, which he did because he believed it to be right.

Hakan had taken on a father’s pride when he looked at Saleem. The boy was strong-willed and determined. He was teetering between boyhood and manhood, a dangerous time. He saw the way Saleem looked at his mother, the look of a boy who refuses to believe what he has not learned for himself. Fereiba would struggle with him, Hakan predicted, but Saleem was too devoted to stray far. He wrapped an arm around Saleem’s shoulders and squeezed.

Saleem was taller than he had been when he first met Hakan coming out of prayers so many months ago. He bit his lip, feeling as if he was betraying his father by leaning into Hakan’s paternal gesture. These small moments gave him resilience, though.

“Saleem, your family has a long and difficult journey ahead. God sees all that you’ve done for them and for yourself. I’m sure your father is quite proud of you and the man you are becoming. We will pray for you. Trust with caution and don’t get discouraged.”

Saleem nodded solemnly. Hakan’s words surprised him and made him feel small. He had snuck to the soccer fields when he said he was at the farm. He had smoked cigarettes and pocketed snacks from the street kiosk when the shop owner’s back was turned. He’d resented his baby brother’s needs and even Padar- jan for being so stubborn that he’d kept his family in Afghanistan until it was too late. No one knew these pieces of Saleem. He was cagey, a boy with secrets. He wanted so much to be the person Hakan described.

He looked at Hakan’s face, still discomfited by the inexplicable resemblance to his father’s. He felt the memory of his father fading with each passing day. Some nights, Saleem lay awake, trying to recall Padar- jan ’s image, his voice, his smell. With each day, yesterday was pushed into a darker cranny of his mind. With each night, Saleem had to reach deeper into those recesses to find his father. Saleem clung to the images he had, fearful they would fade into a blinding whiteness. This, too, he was ashamed to admit.

Saleem hadn’t bothered to go back to the Polat farm even though he was owed five days’ worth of wages. He knew Polat would refuse to pay him if he wasn’t going to be returning. Ekin, who’d returned to haunt him as if nothing had happened, would find another way to busy her afternoons. With Kamal, Saleem’s farewell was awkward. Their friendship had been based on the lightness of childhood, boyish activities of little consequence. The bloodied wedding and Saleem’s departure brought a weight to their bond that neither boy expected or wanted. Kamal, not bothering to brush the hair from his eyes, quietly wished Saleem a safe journey. Saleem turned his back on his first friend outside of Afghanistan, knowing they would never speak again.

THE WAZIRI FAMILY LEFT INTIKAL ON A BUS HEADED TOWARD Turkey’s west coast, where ports and ships provided easy passage to Greece. They had the Belgian passports Abdul Rahim had secured for them and would not have to rely on smugglers. If these passports got them through customs, they would be well worth the high price Madar- jan had paid for them.

The bus ride was long, bumpy, and quiet. The Waziri family watched Turkey’s verdant landscape go by in silence. They were leaving behind a life they’d come to enjoy, days that passed with the comforting rhythm of a drumbeat. Again, Madar- jan was leading them into an unknown.

It was a day’s journey to Izmir, on Turkey’s western shore. When they neared Izmir’s port, Saleem’s senses were hit with the briny air, a smell unfamiliar to his landlocked nose. He looked at the others. Their eyes shimmered, reflecting the glimmering turquoise waters. The sea, a place where sunlight bounced from here to there, from water to the hull of a ship to the wings of a seagull. Samira smiled, the sun warming her face. Fereiba stroked her daughter’s hair. It was a brief moment of joy, but one that gave them reason to press on.

Saleem found a ticket booth and purchased one-way rides for the entire family. The ticket agent, busy chatting with the agent in the adjacent booth, barely looked at their passports. He waved Saleem off when he inquired about a ticket for Aziz.

Tickets in hand, they turned again to the cerulean expanse and marveled at the enormous ships docked there. Never before had they seen waters bigger than a river.