Nadia Hashimi - When the Moon Is Low

She stirred feelings in him. Feelings he knew he should squelch but couldn’t. It was hard not to watch her. He could only hope she did not notice. He buried the urge to wrap his hands around her waist or bury his face in her neck. She did not seem uncomfortable around him, so he doubted she knew how he felt. Or maybe she knew but did not mind. Saleem could entertain that possibility for hours on end.

SALEEM WAITED OUTSIDE THE TRAIN STATION, TRYING TO LOOK AS casual as possible. He had used his reflection in a store window to finger-comb his unkempt hair into place. He spotted her across the street, a backpack slung over her shoulder as an afterthought. Saleem straightened his posture. She had on a black fitted button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her jeans tapered to a delicate ankle.

“Hey. How was the night?” she asked.

“It was okay,” he shrugged with a weak smile.

“But the rain. Did you stay dry? I did not even know it had rained until this morning. I was thinking about your little brother all day today.” There it was. Another clue that she saw him as more than just another refugee. He tucked her comment away with others he’d collected in their conversations. He would think more about it later.

“We were all right. It was wet but we. . we covered. He is okay today.”

“I am glad to hear that. The newspaper says there is no more rain for the rest of the week so it should not be a problem again.”

“That is good.”

“All right, let’s go and find you some tickets, huh?” Roksana led the way. Together, they looked at the overhead board that listed the train schedule. “Did you plan where you want to go?”

“Yes, we will go to Patras and take the ferry to Italy.”

Roksana nodded in agreement.

“Yes, I suppose that is the best way. You brought some money?”

Saleem pulled out his passport and the folded-up bills. Roksana told him to hold on to it. She looked for an open counter and indicated for Saleem to follow. She stepped up to the clerk and put on an especially cheerful voice. Saleem watched as she chatted amicably. The clerk, a middle-aged woman that Saleem would not have thought to approach, laughed and shook her head. Roksana half turned to Saleem and held out her hand. He gave her the money and passport without the clerk noticing.

They walked away with train tickets to Patras. Roksana was so at ease. Saleem could not recall the last time he’d been so comfortable. It seemed like all his life, his movements had been shadowed by fear. The monster may have changed shape and color over the years, but it was steps behind him, always.

Today was Wednesday. Their tickets were for Friday morning. Weekend travel was busier and they would stand a better chance of getting lost in the crowd. Madar- jan had decided it was time to sell off some of her jewelry. Saleem would need a day to find a way to turn her bangles into cash they could use for food and transportation.

“I do have some good news,” Roksana said as they reached the street. “I wish it could have come sooner. I found a place for you and your family to stay. I know you’ll be leaving soon, but at least you won’t be on the street. One room. It is an older hotel run by a couple — my friend’s grandparents. They are selling the hotel in two or three weeks to retire and it is in bad shape, but they have a room. They’ll ask you to help them with a few things around the hotel, since they are old, but they are kind people. I explained your situation and they said if you help them enough with their move, they will not ask any money of you.”

“Yes,” Saleem agreed excitedly. He could hardly believe their good luck. Maybe Madar- jan had been right. Maybe last night’s rain had brought roshanee after all. Roksana handed him a scrap of paper with the hotel’s address on it.

“Don’t thank me. You can thank them. Good luck, Saleem. I know it’s not easy, especially with the entire family. I really hope the rest of Europe treats you well.” She looked at her watch. “I need to get back home, but I’ll be here Friday morning before you leave. I want to make sure you all get on the train. And I’ll write for you which ferry you’ll need to take from Patras. You know, in Patras there is a large camp of refugees. More Afghans are there than in Attiki and the situation is not good. Do not end up there, Saleem. From what I hear, it is a dead end.”

He nodded, then watched her slide her backpack over her shoulder and cross the street. He would have one more chance to see her. He hadn’t been ready to say good-bye to her today.

Their looming departure made him more anxious. He did not know what would be available to them once they got on the train or even in Patras. He stopped by a few markets on his way back and snuck away with what he could. He pushed aside thoughts of Roksana and reminded himself of the dwindling funds he’d counted out with Madar- jan . It was almost dark by the time he got back to his family. Madar- jan looked relieved to see him.

He understood a little better how she felt every time he left but only slightly. He could not possibly know everything that ran through her mind any more than she could his. There were things they said out loud to each other, things they whispered with a twitch of the face, and things that were stoically hidden. Mother and son were divided by age and role and by the desire to protect each other. But, though they could never admit it, their secrets were also designed to protect themselves and their relationship. Some things neither would want to know about the other even if they could. Some secrets saved them.

Saleem unloaded his bag and Madar- jan carefully rationed out what they could eat that night and what they needed to conserve for the journey. He gave her the tickets and passport, which she tucked into the drawstring pouch that hung around her neck, under her blouse.

“Aziz had another episode today,” she told him quietly.

Indeed, Aziz’s color was more sallow than yesterday. He lay on the bed, a pillow propped behind him. He’d gained a bit of weight since he’d started the medication they’d purchased in Turkey. He’d started walking, speaking a few words, and even giggling from time to time. Saleem did not see him much, and when he did, he kept a distance. Things were different with Samira. He liked having her near, her head against his shoulder as he talked about his day. But Aziz was a child who stared at him expectantly and needed so much. Saleem could not manage it. He turned away, ashamed of his own resentment.

“We need to get him to a doctor in England. The medicine is not doing what it used to. His color is not good, and again he is looking so tired.” Madar- jan looked defeated. Saleem wondered how his brother would fare on the journey ahead. “I’ll call your aunt tomorrow and tell her of our plans. Maybe things are better for them now.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Saleem- jan, we cannot depend on them. It’s important to remember that.”

“Why? She’s been telling us to come to London. Didn’t she promise to help once we got there?”

“It’s just that sometimes people want to help. . but something gets in the way. I want us to be ready to rely on ourselves alone since it may come to that even once we get there.”

“Never mind with that, Madar- jan . We’ve got a room for tonight. The girl from the aid organization found it for us. Let’s go now before it gets late. All that rain last night, maybe it was roshanee, just like you always say.”

Madar- jan ’s face twinkled like embers stoked by a breeze.

She quickly gathered their few belongings and they set off to find the Hotel Kitrino, the Yellow Hotel. The owners were a gray-haired couple, kind enough to touch Aziz’s cheek softly and to show them to a room. When Madar- jan tried to ask what they needed done so she could begin right away, they gestured for her to sleep the night and begin tomorrow.