Nadia Hashimi - When the Moon Is Low

SALEEM WOKE TO THE FEELING OF PINS AND NEEDLES IN HIS LEG. It took more than a moment for him to realize what he was feeling. He’d only been asleep an hour or two. He’d been too anxious to close his eyes for most of the night.

Roksana had told him about this playground, nestled in among the apartment buildings that housed the middle class of Athens. In the evenings, the area was serene. It was off the busy street and had no pedestrian traffic after the nearby shops closed. The Waziris tucked their bags out of sight behind the corner of a building, and Saleem pushed Samira on the swing until it was dark enough. The entire family climbed into a small wooden playhouse and huddled tightly. His mother had taken a wool blanket from the hotel before they’d left and used that to cover them as best she could.

Madar- jan sat with her head against the side of the playhouse. Her eyes were closed, but by her breathing Saleem could tell she was awake. She opened her eyes when she felt his leg brush against hers.

“Sorry, Madar- jan, ” he whispered. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Good morning, bachem, ” she said. Indeed it was. The sky was just starting to lift from black to a midnight blue. “I hope you got some sleep.”

“I think I did.” A jarring pain shot through his neck as he turned his head. He rubbed the knotted muscle. Samira lay with her head on Madar- jan ’s side. The bundle of layers that was Aziz lay in Madar- jan ’s arms. It looked as if she had not moved since last night.

But she will not complain, Saleem thought. She leaned in closer to Saleem.

“ Bachem , I’m going to step out before people start to rise and walk about. I’ll sit on one of the benches by the swings and leave you and Samira to sleep for a bit longer. Once I start to see people walking around, I’ll wake you as well.”

Saleem nodded. “I’ll come with you, Madar- jan .”

“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.

What if Aziz has trouble? What if Samira starts to cry? What if someone comes and takes us away?

All the resentment he had for being the one running the family’s errands while Madar- jan tended to the younger ones, all of it melted and was replaced with a yearning for Madar- jan to come back. It was late, the hour when the underworld trolled the streets. If she was spotted by the police, she would have no way of returning to them.

He strained his eyes to make out her shape from the plastic window of the playhouse, but it was dark and the rain made it nearly impossible to see. Minutes ticked away.

When she did appear, her hair was drenched, her sopping clothes clung to her. She’d gathered rocks from the playground and used them to weigh down the layer of plastic bags she’d pieced together to block the seeping rain. It worked.

Their clothes and bread were soaked, though the rain let up in just an hour. Well before sunrise, Madar- jan folded up the plastic bags and returned the rocks to the flower beds. She was saving the bags, Saleem could see, for when the rain returned.

They changed into drier clothes in a public restroom. Saleem used a few precious euros to buy fresh bread and juice from a local shop. They ate quietly, exhausted from a restless night.

Saleem and Madar- jan counted their remaining money and set aside what Roksana had estimated they would need to purchase the train tickets. Saleem stuffed the money and his Belgian passport as deep into his front pocket as he could and set out. By afternoon, he was anxious to have their tickets purchased already. It was a huge relief that Roksana would be meeting him at the station.

He wished he could be more like Roksana. She was cool and confident. While he knew her parents traveled quite a bit, he did not know what they did. She was an only child, and her mother and father gave her quite a bit of autonomy for her age. Anytime he tried to learn more about her, she deflected his questions and turned the conversation back to his situation.