I glare at him in the small mirror, and he glares back.
“I make good money here, okay? The refugee business is booming.”
I give him a disgusted look.
“Whatever,” he mutters, knowing exactly what’s going through my mind. “You can call me whatever you want, but it’s the truth.”
The more borders we pass, the more anxious we get. At one, we’re made to wait for two hours. At another, Am gets patted down and I’m harassed. Later, Kenan gets mocked and insulted. And at the last one, a soldier heavily implies that he’s going to take Lama away. Only her.
“She’s pretty for a girl so young.” The soldier leers and Kenan’s face turns as white as a sheet.
Lama wedges herself against Kenan, her thin arms shivering.
Am manages to distract the soldier with a few questions about the Syrian economy. Eventually he lets us go and Am peers at Lama from the rearview mirror.
“You all right?” he asks her. Lama curls into Kenan’s lap to hug him. Tremors run along him as he holds her like his life depends on it. There’s pity in Am’s eyes. Lama is about the same age as Samar.
After that last checkpoint, it takes us an hour of driving nonstop to finally reach Tartus. With the front window cracked a bit, we smell the sea before we see it.
The Mediterranean Sea.
Just on the other side, safety—not freedom. I’m leaving freedom behind, and I can feel the earth’s grief when I get out of the car. The tired weeds try to encircle my ankles, begging me to stay. They murmur stories about my ancestors. The ones who stood right where I stand. The ones whose discoveries and civilization encompassed the whole world. The ones whose blood runs through my veins. My footprints sink deep into the soil where theirs have long since been washed away. They plead with me:It’s your country.This earth belongs to me and my children.
I take a few steps toward the sea, breathing in its salty cold air, feeling it cleanse me.
The Mediterranean is angry today. A storm brews under his restless waves. I see him rumble and twist within himself. I hear the remnants of those before me walking along the sand, throwing stones into his depth, trying to make sense of what has been happening for more than fifty years.
“The boat is right over there,” Am calls out, and I look. If I’d had any expectations, I might have fallen over right then and there.
Calling it a boat would be generous. Once upon a time it must have been white. Now it’s dirty and battered, with rusty brown scratches hiding its true color. It floats innocently a bit beyond the shore. I’m not an expert, but I already see at least ten red flags. The huge number of people already on it being one. A baby starts crying, and another joins in.One wrong move,I imagine,and it’ll tip over.
“Made it just in time too!” Am opens the trunk of his car and takes out four life jackets identical to the ones the people on the boat are wearing. Orange, so we can be seen. He tosses them to the kids.
“What the hell is this, Am?” I ask when I find my voice. Kenan stands very still, his eyes never leaving the boat.
“What?” He straps Lama securely into her life jacket.
“What do you meanwhat?” I spit out. “This is a goddamn fishing boat, isn’t it?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m pretty sure fishing boats can’t carry a small village! There’re way more people than there should be.”
“You expected a cruise ship?” He whips around and throws my life jacket at me. I catch it deftly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get one to your standards, Your Highness.”
“You know exactly what I mean. That boat is a ticking time bomb!”
“You’ll make it,” he says firmly. “You’re not the first boat we’ve sent off. That one has made the trip countless times.”
I look at Kenan helplessly.What do we do?
Behind him, the mountains of Tartus stand strong. And behind them? Hell. And, I realize, death.
“If we stay, we die,” Kenan says in a low tone. “And if we leave, wemightdie.”
We can’t stay. There’s no guarantee we’d even make it back to Homs.
I’d rather drown.
