The same thought had crossed Saleem’s mind, but now he quickly dismissed it.
“You’re talking like the old and gray haired. We had to leave. If we don’t plan for tomorrow, there won’t be one.”
Ajmal looked up. His ears tingled at the conviction in Saleem’s voice.
THE COMMOTION BEGAN NOT AN HOUR LATER. AJMAL AND Saleem went outside to find out what was going on. A crowd of young French protesters had gathered in front of the camps. Some chanted. Some waved their fists in the air. Some carried signs.
BAN BORDERS
NO PRISON FOR IMMIGRANTS
HUMAN RIGHTS NOW
“Look at them all!” Ajmal exclaimed.
There had to be hundreds of people out there. Men and women. There were also at least thirty police officers with stern black uniforms and half-shell helmets, scrambling to surround the group and control the chaos. The situation was odd. The police were here because of the protesters. And the protesters were here for the Jungle.
“Their own people shouting for us!”
But Saleem saw more when he looked at the mass. They must know something. Maybe they had gotten word about that something. Saleem watched as more activists began to join the group, two or three at a time.
“Ajmal, this is not good. We should get out of here.”
“Now? When we’ve just found hundreds of friends? I bet things will get better. We just have to wait and see.”
“I don’t want to see. We’ll be caught in the middle of whatever this is. Just like in Afghanistan.”
Ajmal sighed.
“Maybe we should set up camp somewhere else in town, like the other boys did.”
“No,” Saleem said. “I think we should make a run for the tunnel.”
“The tunnel? Have you lost your mind?”
“I know. . but look at where all the police are now. They are here! This might just be the perfect distraction.”
Ajmal was as desperate as Saleem. His silence said as much.
“Listen, Ajmal. I’ve been thinking about it. There are two entrances to the tunnel. The men all went through the entrance for cars and trucks. But there is the other entrance.”
“You mean the train tracks?”
“Yes, the train tracks.”
“That’s a death wish. People have tried jumping onto the trains as they pass through. They’ve been electrocuted by the cables. And do you know how fast they roll through there? If you get hit by one of those trains — even your mother wouldn’t recognize your body.”
“I think it’s worth a try. The fence is still cut open and we can go look. I don’t see any other way. The lorries are nearly impossible to jump onto. And the ferries are so guarded. It’s not like the other ports. I’m going to try to walk through the tunnel, along the tracks.”
Ajmal took a deep breath.
“When are you going to go through with it?”
“This evening, once the sun has started to set. The dark will help.”
Ajmal considered Saleem’s reasoning. He nodded in agreement.
“Let’s pray to God that this works.”
Saleem ignored the hypocrisy of praying only when he was most desperate and hoped that God would too.
WHEN EVENING CAME UPON THEM, SALEEM AND AJMAL SAID nothing to the others in the camp. They gathered whatever food they had stored in the hut and stuffed it into their pockets. With fifty kilometers of track to cross, they would need every last bit of sustenance. They made their way down the dirt path and out of the Jungle. Protesters came and went with their poster board signs. Saleem could not make out what they were chanting and averted his eyes. It was a strange thing to be running from, but the air was charged.
They arrived at the tunnel entrance, and Saleem led Ajmal to the opening in the security fence. The authorities either hadn’t found the spot yet or hadn’t had time to repair it. They crouched behind some trees and watched for guards. No one was in the vicinity, but there was a regular stream of cars. It wasn’t completely dark so they decided to wait. No use in rushing the plan.
In an hour, all that remained of the sun was a purple glow on the horizon. The boys crept down the embankment and tiptoed toward the tracks, sidestepping the rails with caution.
Their first peek into the tunnel was intimidating. There was only about two feet of space on either side of the train tracks. They would have to keep their bellies plastered against the wall while trains passed by. Wavering or losing balance would be fatal.
“It will be dark,” Saleem warned. “We should stick close together and listen for the sound of trains coming.”
“Yes, stick together. And listen for trains.” Saleem could hear the quiver in Ajmal’s voice.
“Ajmal, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Saleem said gently. He did not want to be responsible for what might happen if Ajmal’s nerves got the best of him during their crossing.
“I’m fine, Saleem. I want to go.”
The boys entered the dark. Saleem felt once more for Khala Najiba’s address, tucked safely into his pocket.
They had walked about two kilometers into the tunnel when their feet sensed a light rumble in the tracks.
“Saleem!”
“Remember, up against the wall and don’t move! Don’t move!” Saleem yelled out. He pressed his cheek against the cold tunnel wall and tried to flatten himself. He closed his eyes, scared for Ajmal and scared for himself.
The train was upon them almost instantly, glaring lights announcing its arrival. Traveling at nearly one hundred miles per hour, the train slammed the boys with a hard blast of air.
One. . two. . three. . four. . Saleem counted as his fingers clawed at the concrete wall. Nine. . ten. . eleven. . and the assault continued. Fourteen. . fifteen. . sixteen. . until finally, mercifully, the deafening noise faded into the distance.
Saleem, unmoving, let out the desperate breath he’d held in. Slowly, his body, realizing it was whole, untensed. This could work!
“Ajmal?”
There was no reply.
“Ajmal!”
Silence still.
“Ajmal, are you all right! Answer me!” Saleem groped behind him in the dark.
“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I just. . oh, Saleem, that was close!”
“But you are okay?”
“Yes, I am okay.”
“Can you go on?”
“My friend, you’ve brought the donkey halfway up the hill, there is no use in turning him back around.”
Saleem’s laughter echoed through the dark tunnel. It ran ahead of him, leading the way like a beacon in the night. All he had to do was follow.
Saleem touched his pocket and felt for the pouch. He thought of his return to the pawnshop in Athens and the surprised look on the store owner’s face when Saleem reached into his pocket and handed over money he could scarcely afford to pay.
Madar-jan, I am just a few kilometers away. I will be by your side and show Padar-jan that I can be the man my family needs me to be. . the man I want to be. I will not stop until I see these bangles back on your wrist, Madar-jan.
His throat thick with the honeyed taste of promise, Saleem called out to his invisible friend.
“Ajmal, my friend, let’s go!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My deep gratitude to my parents, who are a real-life love story and my biggest champions. For my hamsar, this story would not exist without you and your belief that I could make it happen. Zoran, Zayla, and Kyrus — my biggest critics — you make storytelling challenging and rewarding and I love you with all my heart. Fawod and family, your extraloud cheers feed my soul. Thank you, Fahima, for knowing me so well that you send all the right inspirations my way. You make my inbox happy. To my uncle Isah and the other family members who have shared details of their sometimes heartbreaking journeys, thank you for your generosity. Emine, my immensely talented Turkish advisor, your creative input was precious, and I hope the world gets to see the important moments you’ve captured (www.eminegozdesevim.com). For Laura, my overqualified Hellenic guide, efxaristo koukla mou. To my wise editor, Rachel Kahan, thank you for making my imaginary friends your imaginary friends and for taking such good care of them. Helen Heller, my astute agent, thank you for finding this story a home and for breathing poetry into the book’s title (again). To the entire family at William Morrow/HarperCollins, thank you for your creativity, dedication, and enthusiasm. I am eternally grateful to all the friends who have supported my writing in many creative ways: the LadyDocs, the Queens crew, Professor Holly Davidson, the Warwickians, and others.