When the Moon Is Low (41 page)
Saleem panicked. His money was in the pouch hidden at his waist. He could not take out a few bills to show this man without having the man see that he had more and he could not risk losing everything.
“I . . . I do not have . . .”
The man had let go of Mimi and was squeezing Saleem’s chin and cheeks with a single, pressing hand, a viselike grip.
“No money?”
“No,” Saleem squeaked through his mashed lips. The grip tightened.
“No money, eh?” He turned to Mimi and yelled something at her. Before she could begin to explain, his hand clapped against her face. She reeled backward. Saleem thrust his hands out toward her, but he now had the man’s full attention.
“You wasting my girl’s time?” He struck Saleem with the same vicious blow. Saleem staggered and tried to get his bearings, but the second and third blows came too quickly.
There was no arguing with his rage.
Pointed boots landed on Saleem’s back, his stomach, and his ribs. He heard Mimi scream. He tried to cower, to cover his stomach from the blows. His breath was short. He felt pavement against his cheek, cold and rough. And then it stopped.
Saleem crawled away, coughing and sputtering on his knees. Mimi’s cries faded. He dragged himself to a corner and lay behind a pile of cardboard boxes.
Please let it be over.
Saleem closed his eyes and gave in to the dark.
WHY DIDN’T I FIGHT BACK? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?
Saleem was almost as furious with himself as he was with Mimi’s pimp. It was morning. His body screamed in protest as he hobbled his way to a corner store and bought something he could sip through his swollen, split lips. The store owner, taking him for a hooligan, took his money scornfully. He shook his head, disappointed in his country for not keeping the troublemakers out.
After finding his way to the train station, Saleem looked for schedules and routes that would take him into France. He felt the eyes of a police officer on his back. In a moment, Saleem had expertly melted into the crowd, leaving the officer to shake his head and return to the opposite side of the station.
SALEEM GRAPPLED EACH DAY WITH THE POSSIBILITY THAT HE
might not make it to England. Taken with his experience within the first few days of arriving in Italy, he felt desperate to try something. But
he was tired—fatigued as if his veins carried lead instead of blood. He was tired of having nothing to eat and tired of worrying about money. He was tired of watching over his shoulder. Leaving Kabul may have been a mistake after all. Things might have gotten better.
Saleem did not hear the click of heels nearing him. He’d nodded off with his back against the side of a building. In the recessed streets of Italy’s capital, someone recognized his battered face.
“Saleem.”
He opened his eyes to spy two knees with scrapes like skid marks. Mimi crouched beside him, her voice hushed.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” His voice was low and insincere. He looked around.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes,” she said. “Burim is not here.”
His name was Burim.
“You are hurt bad? Oh, your mouth!”
“I’m all right. It’s better now.” Saleem admitted to himself that it was his fault he and Mimi ran into Burim that night and it was because of him that Mimi had been dragged away. From the looks of it, Burim hadn’t let her off easy. There was a bluish hue below her left eye and a small scab on her lip.
“I . . . I am sorry, Mimi,” he said. “I did not want for you to be hurt.”
Mimi slumped to the ground and sat beside him. “I know. Burim is a crazy man. I know him. Nothing new.”
“You need to get away from him.” It seemed uncomplicated to Saleem. Why linger here when the money she earned was not hers and she lived in a perpetual state of fear? Why did Mimi not leave?
“I can do nothing. Not now. Maybe one day but now . . . now I have no choice.”
They contemplated in silence, Saleem wondering why Mimi did not walk away today and Mimi knowing Saleem would never understand.
“I take you to the man now,” she said. “Maybe you can leave. You have better chance than me.”
“But Burim? What if he finds us again?”
“He is far now. He has two girls far from here. New girls. He go to meet them. We have time.”
He nodded and followed. While he did not feel up to the meeting, he wanted desperately to leave Rome. Mimi led him down the same streets, watching to be sure he kept up the pace. They reached an apartment building with a broken knob and first-floor windows taped together. Saleem shook his head, knowing he was ignoring his instincts by entering.
“Inside door, press for apartment B3,” Mimi instructed. “A man answer. He ask who you are and you tell him Mimi send you. Say you want to go to France and maybe he have job for you.”
“Tell your name?”
“Yes. This man, he not Burim friend. But you do everything he say. Everything, understand? He is dangerous man but possible he send you to France. You come here in two days,” she instructed specifically.
Saleem was relieved he had time yet before he was to meet Mimi’s contact though it was disappointing that it would be at least another two days before he could leave this city.
“What’s his name?” he asked. Mimi was already leading him back down to where they had come from. “What is this man’s name?”
“No name,” she said firmly. “No questions. He not like to talk.”
“How you know him?”
“He work with Burim one year but they fight for money. Now they not talk but I know man sends people from here to other countries. He tell you how you do.”
Saleem nodded, understanding some but not all. Mimi was neck deep in a world of unsavory characters. Saleem wondered if he was one of them.
Maybe I am like her. Like the people she knows. Maybe I’m not an innocent boy on the run anymore. Maybe if I accept that, I’ll be better off.
She walked ahead of him, her thin ponytail beckoning him to follow. Saleem, still sore, suggested they sit down and eat the half sandwich he had in his pocket. Mimi nodded up ahead.
“Come with me,” she said and he followed.
She led him back to a dimly lit, one-room apartment in a building not far from where she’d found him. A simple sheet covered a twin-size mattress on a metal bed frame. A lamp sat on a wooden chair, and two other chairs were up against the opposite wall. The walls, painted what was surely once an inspiring red, had cracked with time. The galley kitchen was a few feet away, divided from the main room by a half wall. The appliances looked rusted and unused. The door to the bathroom was half open, and Saleem could see a chipped porcelain sink and a narrow shower stall with blackened grout.
The apartment was in miserable condition and if Saleem had seen it before he’d left Kabul, he would have turned up his nose at it. But his perspective had changed. As Padar-
jan
often said, in the valley of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
Saleem’s more pressing concern was whether it was a good idea for him to be here. Mimi looked over and read his thoughts.
“He will not come. Burim has new girl. He stay with her and come back in morning. The first night is very, very bad.” Mimi sat on the bed, and Saleem pulled a chair to sit across from her. He took the flattened sandwich from his pocket, unwrapped it, and offered her half. She took it from him with a soft thanks.
“You live here?” he asked.
She did. Her skimpy dresses and mesh shirts hung limply in the closet, looking as tired as she did. Mimi filled a glass of water from the kitchen tap, took a sip, and passed it to him.
The lamp did not provide much light, and the one window faced another building, not allowing for much street light to come in. Saleem sat forward in his chair. His knee grazed Mimi’s.
“I am sorry, Mimi. Burim hurt you too. You ask me to leave but I . . . I am sorry.”
Mimi stared at the floor.
“Is okay. Forget it. He not change. He tell me I go free if I make money. I make money for ticket to Albania and I can go home. But now seven months and nothing. Other girls, they work two, three years. Nobody make enough money to be free. This is my life now. If you are here, if you are not here . . . it is same.”
She looked up. Like the raindrops he’d watched on the car window, two tears slid down Mimi’s makeup-covered cheeks.
“But you . . . you can go from here. Your family is wait for you and when they see you they will be happy.” Her eyes widened as she pictured open arms welcoming Saleem. She wiped away her tears and smiled weakly.
Saleem wanted to offer her the same encouragement. He wanted to give her the same kindness. He faltered, then reached out and put a hand on her knee.
“You are strong, Mimi. You’ll find a way. Something good come for you too. People help me to come here. You help me. God give the same help for you. Somebody will help you.” Saleem heard the hollowness of his words.
“There is no one to help me. He take my money. I know he never let me go. He control everything.”
Saleem felt his body tighten. Mimi, in all her frailty, still found a way to share. He could be more than what he was. Empty pockets did not mean an empty soul.
“He does not control me,” Saleem said. “Help me find Burim, Mimi.”
She covered his hand with her own and looked at him. She wanted to believe him, to believe every word of what he was saying even if only for a moment. She touched Saleem’s cheek. His stomach dropped to feel her cool, thin fingers on his face. She touched his other cheek and his eyes closed. He imagined Mimi of long ago, a young girl who smiled and laughed with her sisters. He pictured a girl unsullied. He pictured the girl she’d been before the world had crushed her.
Mimi took his hands. Saleem sat on the bed beside her. He let his fingers intertwine with hers before sliding up her arms. He found her shoulders, the milky skin of her neck. Her hands pulled his face to hers, her breath teasing his cheeks. She brought her mouth to his.
She led, Saleem followed. He was timid and nervous but she reassured him with her whispers, the lightness of her touch. She coaxed him and he felt himself becoming a person capable of surprising things. He touched the bruises on her ribs lightly. Her eyes fluttered. There were other bruises, ones her clothing had hidden. He wanted to apologize a thousand times over. He pressed his face against her chest and heard her heart beat, slow and steady. His own heart pounded, untamed and eager.
He was riveted by her flesh. He hesitated, his hands fumbling for the right answers. His inadequacy did not seem to bother her. She welcomed him, making him believe that there was a way he could feel something other than loneliness and hurt.
Saleem turned to his side and traced the length of her arm. Mimi, the girl who needed saving, had saved him. It was only then, as his breathing cooled and slowed, as his muscles relaxed and regrouped, that he let his eyes drift upward to her face, expressionless and passive. It was only then that Saleem realized the bright and hopeful Mimi he’d pictured when he’d closed his eyes did not exist and probably never had.
HE WAITED IN THE DARK. MIMI MADE FLEETING EYE CONTACT
with him from across the street. Saleem watched for her to pull at her skirt, the signal they had arranged. She stood apart from the others, purposely ignoring the cars that slowed near her. Not tonight.
Two hours later, she gave the sign.
They had planned it yesterday, while Saleem was still half naked, half intoxicated from her touch. It had to be fast and, like so much of Saleem’s activities, it had to be in the night.
The signal. A surge of adrenaline raced through Saleem’s body. There was Burim, sauntering down the street toward Mimi. Saleem waited, then emerged from behind the building’s corner. He jogged, keeping his footsteps light, and crossed the street, half a block behind Burim.
You are not a coward.
Saleem said the words again and again, egging himself on. It had been his idea and he could not turn back. He would make this happen. He was tired of things happening to him, as if he were an object
instead of a man. The moment was here. Just as Mimi had guessed, Burim was coming to check on her.
Saleem was behind him, ducking away from streetlamps and staying close to the building fronts. Burim was talking to Mimi. She was fidgeting, her eyes darting nervously and her shoulders pulled together.
I looked just as weak to him. No more.
Saleem slipped behind an empty newsstand. His fingers tightened around the one-foot length of rusted metal pipe he’d brought with him. He could hear Burim speaking to Mimi. His voice rose. He was getting angrier. Mimi mumbled a reply. Burim snickered.
Saleem took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the stand. He swung and brought the pipe crashing down against Burim’s ribs. Burim reeled and stumbled forward. Before he could spin around Saleem struck another blow and kicked behind Burim’s left knee with just enough force to bring him down. Burim howled in anger.
Mimi had shrunk to the side, her back against the wall and her expression hollow. Burim rolled onto his back and groaned. He looked up to see Saleem hovering over him, the pipe held with both hands, poised and ready. Saleem’s chest heaved with each breath. Mimi approached and stood alongside Saleem.
“You . . . you . . . bitch,” Burim spat.
Saleem saw the rage in Burim’s face as his right hand reached into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a compact, black pistol, but before he could take aim, Saleem swung the pipe at Burim’s hand and sent the gun flying. Burim cursed, holding one hand with the other.
“You are dead . . . you make mistake . . .”
He stumbled onto his hands and knees and looked up at Mimi. He hissed something in Albanian, words that pulled her blank stare into one of rage.
“Watch what I will do to you!” Burim was crouched, nearly up on his feet.
Saleem saw Mimi’s outstretched arms. She said a few words and spat at him, her voice trembling.
