Nadia Hashimi - When the Moon Is Low

The last ferry for Athens was scheduled to leave in fifteen minutes. As he neared the ships, Saleem saw a driver step out of his truck and make his way to the loading area where two young women in blue-and-white uniforms stood chatting.

When he was sure no one was looking, he went around the back of the truck and crouched down to get a look at the undercarriage. He saw nothing he could latch onto without repeating last week’s mistake. He stood again and stared at the padlock on the bottom of the truck’s back door. There was no way in. Saleem studied the bottom of the door and realized something else.

There was a platform. And more than that — there was a small latch on the side of the door.

He stepped up onto the platform and grabbed onto the side of the truck. He managed to perch himself and get his right foot onto the small latch. He dug his fingers onto the edge of the truck, his breaths quick and nervous. He pushed himself up against the latch, his foot nearly slipping from the small hold. He reached as far as he could to grab onto the truck’s roof but couldn’t get his fingers onto the ledge. Voices neared. The drivers were coming back. Down or up, he needed to go somewhere.

With one last determined effort, Saleem leveraged all his weight on his right foot and swung his left leg upward. The metal ledges dug into his hands. His left foot landed on the lip of the roof with a thud. Saleem strained to pull the rest of his body up.

His biceps burned from the effort but he’d made it. He lay flat and still on his belly with his head turned to the side, hoping his backpack was not visible from the ground. The voices were within a few feet but by their easy tone, he knew they’d not seen him in the twilight.

Moments later, the truck jerked with the start of the engine. He was moving in the direction of the ship. There was another bump as the truck backed onto the ramp. Saleem’s cheek slapped against the cold metal.

The driver maneuvered the truck into a spot alongside several other trucks. More came in after them and the air became warm and thick with fumes. Saleem pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose. He heard a door slam and heard footsteps walking away. Within the space the trucks were parked, voices echoed and it was difficult to tell which direction they were coming from. He raised his head just slightly and saw two figures walking off the ramp, exiting the ship. There was the second ramp. Saleem could make out the line of travelers climbing the steps and boarding the boat, their luggage in tow. Not too long ago, he and his family had boarded a ferry in the same civilized manner.

He could hardly believe how far he’d come.

Within minutes, the horn sounded, ramps were raised, and doors were closed. Saleem clung to the roof of the truck in the ship’s underbelly, afraid to celebrate this small success. When he was certain no one was walking about in the space, he slowly sat up and tried to look around. It was dark and he couldn’t make out much, but that gave him peace that he, too, would be hidden from view.

The next stop would be Chios and from what Saleem remembered, this was a short leg of the journey, an hour at most. From Chios they would travel to Athens, a much longer journey. Maybe nine hours? The question was how Saleem would get off the ship once it docked in Athens. He’d watched them unload incoming ships in Izmir again and again. All he could hope for was to stay on the truck unnoticed until a time when he could slide back down and make a run for it.

When he heard a shift in the ship’s machinery, he guessed they were nearing Chios. He slid back onto his belly and stared at his watch.

I’ve gotten this far, Padar- jan.

Minutes later, the baritone horn sounded again and they were back on the seas. By now it was late into the night and the passengers were probably nodding off in their padded seats. Saleem opened his backpack, grateful he’d bought a bag of chips and a bottle of juice earlier in the day. He would need the energy in Piraeus.

His mind drifted to his family and where they might be. On a train. In a detention center. Sleeping in a park. Their documents were well made and would get them through, Saleem told himself.

Saleem felt for the wad of bills in his pocket. Ekin. He remembered the way she stirred feelings in him — feelings of shame and curiosity at the same time. Maybe he should have let it go on. . just to know. He had not understood her or what was happening.

And Roksana. He would find her when he got to Athens. She would know what had happened to his mother and siblings. Saleem closed his eyes and pictured her face. He missed her. He missed having someone to talk to. He floated into a light sleep, his mind twisting the real into the surreal. It was Roksana, not Ekin, nuzzled against his cheek. His hands were on her waist and slipped around to the small of her back. Their lips met, an electrifying sensation that made Saleem wake with a strange tingle.

The ship was silent except for the hum of the engine. His dream lingered. He tried to close his mind around that feeling, the closeness he’d felt to Roksana. He tried to keep it from evaporating into his awakeness as pleasant dreams did too often.

Saleem had lost all sense of time in the dark. He had no idea how much longer till they reached Piraeus. He closed his eyes again and tried to sleep.

SALEEM’S EYES SNAPPED OPEN TO THE SOUND OF VOICES IN THE cargo area. He immediately flipped onto his stomach and flattened himself. The voices were close.

Piraeus. The drivers were returning to their trucks and preparing to disembark. Passengers were starting to make their way to the door where they would pick up their stored luggage. Saleem’s head ached from the traces of black fumes that had settled into the air he had breathed. He ignored the throbbing and tried to stay focused.

The ship dropped anchor and dragged to a stop at the port. Trucks were parked facing the ramp. When the gates had lowered fully and the hopeful light of a crescent moon crept in, Saleem heard the cab door open and close. Engines rumbled to life. Saleem felt the gears shift beneath him as the truck disembarked.

It was just before daybreak. The truck rolled onto the dock and pulled to a stop.

Saleem lifted his head a few inches. Bleary-eyed passengers walked about, making their way to the main road or the taxi stand a few meters away. He stayed alert for anyone in a uniform, anyone who would try to spot him. It was too close to the piers he decided, and he lowered his head again, hoping the truck would stop somewhere before heading down any major road.

A QUARTER MILE DOWN THE ROAD, THE TRUCK PAUSED. IT WAS A red light and Saleem’s best chance. He grabbed his backpack, slipped it over his shoulders quickly, and slid down the back of the truck, his foot feeling for the latch to help him step down. He found it just as the truck started to move again.

His left foot hit the platform. His hands skated down the sides of the truck, metal grating against his skin. Headlights glared on his back, horns honked. He leaped to the ground, his ankles screaming. The truck driver, oblivious to the chaos behind him, headed down the road as Saleem darted into an alley before anyone could chase him down.

The sun was up before he stopped moving. He passed by familiar places, the first hotel they had stayed in, the café where they had purchased some food on the day they arrived, and the metro stop that Saleem had taken to venture into Athens.

ROKSANA. HE NEEDED TO FIND HER. SHE WAS THE ONLY PERSON who could tell him where his family might be and what may have happened to his passport. But he didn’t want to face her looking the way he did. He hadn’t had a proper bath in a week. His hair was matted to his head and his clothes were dusty and tattered. The construction sites and the docks had not been easy on him. Saleem used the morning to find a public restroom. He washed as best he could and changed into a fresh pair of clothes.