Yiza Page 5

  Arian poured milk into a pan and set it on the hob. He poured the hot milk first into Yiza’s cup, then Shamhan’s. He put some water on to boil in a second pan. He used it to make tea with the teabags he had stolen from the home. Fruit tea. It smelled good.

  Can I have one too? Shamhan asked.

  Arian fetched a second cup from the cupboard, dropped a teabag in and poured water over it.

  Yiza too? he asked.

  You too? asked Shamhan.

  Yiza nodded.

  Shamhan dried the saucepan and put it in the rucksack with the other things.

  Arian searched the cupboards and found boxes of matches and two lighters. And knives, forks and spoons, a tin opener and a bottle opener. He put everything in the rucksack. They didn’t find any money. They were very cheerful. There was a radio in the kitchen, and they switched it on and listened to music. Then they fried some eggs, all ten eggs they had found, and fried the ham that didn’t smell off, and ate them with bread and butter and tomatoes and bananas. All while they listened to the music. Yiza drank a lot of water and had to keep going to the toilet and she was desperate and didn’t make it in time. She was scared Shamhan would tell her off, but he didn’t.

  When they had finished eating and drinking, they got into the marital bed. They woke up and ate some more, Shamhan found some beer, he had two bottles and got drunk, and they fell asleep again.

  They searched the house and found a rucksack that was bigger than theirs, with a lot of pockets and a zip, and they filled it with all the other things they thought they might need. Two woollen blankets, schnapps from the sitting room, crisps from the sitting room, chocolate biscuits, a fat candle with a name written on it. Three large plastic mineral water bottles.

  We’re rich, said Shamhan. He was still a little bit drunk.

  You’re the captain, said Arian, and held out his fist, and Shamhan touched it gently with his own, knuckle to knuckle.

  Shamhan picked Yiza up and kissed her. And what do you say I am? he asked her.

  Uncle, she said.

  What’s she saying? Arian asked.

  Nothing. Don’t worry.

  Nothing, said Arian in Yiza and Shamhan’s language.

  Nothing, Yiza replied.

  In the afternoon, when the clouds were growing darker, they left the house. Their clothes were warm and dry. Their bellies were warm and full. Shamhan and Arian were carrying heavy loads. They set off back the way they had come. It was snowing again. They brushed the snow off their shoulders and hoods. That way their clothes wouldn’t get wet. They didn’t speak to each other. Yiza dawdled behind the other two. Shamhan had to keep telling her to walk faster. She would so have liked to stay in the house. In the hay barn, they each wrapped themselves in their own blanket. Shamhan took a large swig from the schnapps bottle, then blew out the candle and fell asleep. Yiza was already sleeping. Arian sat up for a while longer.

  Should that go there? he whispered into the blackness.

  He listened, cocking his head to one side.

  Or there? he asked.

  He listened.

  And nodded.

  Then he lay back, pulled the blanket over his head and fell asleep.

  It was so easy. The police officers followed the footprints in the snow. They were only vaguely visible now. But they were visible.

  They took away their entire haul. They even took away the rucksack from the home. And the teabags. They took away everything except the clothes they were wearing. And the little lighter they hadn’t found in Arian’s trousers.

  They sat in a row in the back of the police van, their backs to the driver, an officer in the seat opposite. They could only see his face when it was lit up by the headlights of the oncoming cars. The window between them and the driver’s seat behind them was barred. Arian and Yiza didn’t understand the officer’s language. They couldn’t reply. Shamhan understood the questions, but he pretended not to.

  Without looking at Arian and Yiza, he said: Don’t talk. Don’t look at him. That’s best. He said it once in Yiza’s language, and then in Arian’s. The officers didn’t understand either language, and thought they were one and the same.

  It sounded like Shamhan was praying. He kept repeating: Don’t talk. Don’t look at him. That’s best. As he spoke he swayed gently back and forth, his eyelids half closed, his head thrown back. The officer believed he was praying.

  They were on a wet road, travelling through the countryside. It was night-time. The children sat facing backwards, they saw the red tail lights of the cars that had passed them in the other direction. The officer said nothing. He had given up asking questions. Yiza had fallen asleep. She had toppled sideways, and her head was in Shamhan’s lap. He ran one finger across her forehead, into her hair, then down to her mouth and her chin. Once, Shamhan’s eyes met the policeman’s. The officer smiled. And Shamhan smiled back. And the officer went on smiling, although he didn’t attach any meaning to the smile, neither his nor the boy’s, and he thought to himself, in his place I’d smile too, I’d think it might make the policeman feel more lenient, and he noticed that Shamhan’s smile did make him feel more lenient.

  The traffic grew heavier; they were heading into the city. And then they reached the police station. They had to get out. No one touched them. They had to get out.

  Get out, please. What’s the matter with the girl?

  Shamhan picked Yiza up. She whispered in his ear that she was awake, but he mustn’t give her away. Shaman said – and now it sounded like he was singing – Don’t talk. Don’t look at anyone. He said the same thing in Arian’s language.

  Arian was holding onto Yiza’s foot. He had pulled his hood tight again so you couldn’t see his eyebrows. He kept glancing up, wanting to look into Shamhan’s face and read it. Maybe Shamhan’s face would tell him what was going to happen next. But Shamhan just looked straight ahead or up at the sky, from which snowflakes were now falling once more. They fell slowly: fat, heavy flakes that settled on their shoulders.

  The officer who had sat opposite them in the van said: There’s tea inside. Come inside. He stroked Yiza and asked: Are you asleep? Is she asleep?

  Shamhan hugged her tight. No understand, he said. No understand. Secretly, he dug his thumbs into Yiza’s side and said quietly in her language, which was also his: You mustn’t talk.

  The officers walked ahead of them. Yiza whispered in Shamhan’s ear: I won’t talk.

  I’ll do all the talking, said Shamhan. First he said it in Yiza’s language, then in Arian’s.

  They were led into a bright, warm room. Police officers in uniform were sitting behind a reception desk. They were directed towards soft seats where they were to wait. We don’t know anything about them, said the officer who had sat opposite them in the van.

  What’s he going on about? asked the officer who had driven the van.

  He’s praying, said his colleague.

  Don’t look at me, Arian. And don’t say anything. Listen to me. We have to leave Yiza behind. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at me. They think I’m praying. They mustn’t think I’m talking to you. Yiza mustn’t think I’m talking to you, either. Close your eyes, pretend you’re going to sleep. We’re going to be sitting here for a long time. They don’t know what language we’re speaking. They don’t know what kind of interpreter to call. They’ll get tired. When they see that we’re tired, they’ll get tired, too. They’re not all that interested in us. We’re not important. They’ll get careless, because they think we’re tired and we’re not important. Yiza can’t run as fast as you and I can. If we wait for her, they’ll catch us. Nothing’s going to happen to her. They’ll take her back to the home. She’ll stay there over winter. They wouldn’t let us stay in the home over winter, either of us, Arian. She’s everyone’s favourite. They all want to stroke her. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. Everyone feels sorry for her. And everyone loves her. They’ll say: let’s keep her for one more day, let’s keep her one more week, and then they’l
l get used to her, and then a woman will say: come home with me, don’t you want to live with me, and she’ll say yes, because she always says yes. She’ll be fine whatever happens, but we won’t, Arian, you and me. She doesn’t even know her own name. If you don’t know your name, you don’t have a mother or a father. Mothers and fathers tell you your name. They keep saying your name, because they like saying it and hearing it. Yiza has no one. They can’t deport her. Where would they deport her to? If someone doesn’t have a name, then they don’t have any relatives. There’s no one waiting for her. There’s no one to take her in. They’ll deport you. And me. I’m not a favourite. You’re not a favourite either. When your voice gets deeper, you’re not going to be anyone’s favourite any more. You’ve already got eyebrows like a man. We should have run away when we got out of the car. There was a moment when they weren’t paying attention. I know you can run fast. I can run fast, too. But we couldn’t run away because I was carrying Yiza. That was a mistake. I won’t pick her up again. It wasn’t good that we took her with us. When I run, you run too. Run in a different direction to me. Run until you can’t run any more. We’ll meet at the river, where we met before. If you remember where, then cough now. Don’t look at Yiza, Arian. If you look at her, it will make you weak. Then you won’t run fast enough, and they’ll catch you and deport you. Arian. They don’t like children who have eyebrows like yours. I know that. You know it too, that’s why you hide your eyebrows. Nothing’s going to happen to Yiza. She’ll do better than us. She’s a favourite. I’m not a favourite. And you’re not, either.

  What god is he praying to? asked the policeman who had driven the van. If we knew that, we might be getting somewhere.

  They drank tea and ate sandwiches. One of the policemen wiped Yiza’s mouth. She pushed his hand away. She pressed herself against Shamhan. Buried her head in his armpit. They waited. But didn’t know what they were waiting for. Shamhan thought they were waiting for an interpreter. The officers had made some phone calls and they were still making phone calls, but they hadn’t said the word interpreter. When they were on the phone, they laughed into the receiver. Or else Shamhan had missed the word. Or they used a different word for it. Or they were calling about something else. Yiza curled up so that all of her fitted onto the chair, and laid her head on Shamhan’s thigh. Arian did the same on the other side.

  The officers thought the three of them were siblings. They guessed their ages. The bigger boy might be younger than he looked, they thought. Then they talked about other things. One of them kept going outside to smoke a cigarette, and brought the smell of smoke back in with him. Soon it was quiet in the room. The officers who had brought the big boy and the two little ones in were long gone.

  Shamhan now thought the officers would leave them sitting there overnight, and would only fetch an interpreter in the morning, or not fetch one at all and cart them off somewhere without interrogating them. He closed his eyes. He wanted them to think he was sleeping. But he wasn’t sleeping.

  After midnight, two policemen brought a man in. They were on his left and right, holding him by his upper arms and giving orders. Shamhan couldn’t tell who they were giving orders to: the man, or each other. The man was drunk. He had on a heavy, light-coloured coat with a fur collar. It wasn’t buttoned, and underneath he was wearing a suit, the jacket open as well, his shirt and tie spattered with dried blood. The man had a very deep voice. Shamhan couldn’t understand what he was saying, he wasn’t speaking clearly. And Shamhan was only interested in whether the man was talking about them. He didn’t think he was. The man hadn’t looked at them when he was brought in. He was drunk, but he seemed sensible. His voice was calm and sensible. He took a pair of glasses out of his coat pocket and put them on. Then you couldn’t see the anger in his eyes, either. But the two policemen didn’t let go of his arms. They stood in front of the desk and held onto him and gave their orders and explained to their colleagues what had happened. Shamhan gave Arian a shove. He sat up at once. Sat up straight. Breathed quickly.

  Shamhan carefully pushed Yiza aside. She woke up and immediately wanted to lie back down on his leg. Shamhan didn’t let her. She lay down on her other side, resting her head on her arm.

  Shamhan squeezed Arian’s hand.

  Ready, he said.

  When the man started yelling and lashing out at the officers, Shamhan leapt up and made for the door. But Arian stayed where he was.

  It was a long way to the door, and he had to pass the desk. The man in the heavy coat with the fur collar struggled free from the policemen’s grasp, he was yelling even louder now, but without words, and he smashed both fists into Shamhan’s head. And Shamhan fell down. The man started kicking him, yelling with every kick. Shamhan shielded his head with his hands and forearms, he rolled to one side, tried to get up, but the man kicked him again, jumped on him with his whole weight and yelled and struck out at the policemen who were trying to pull him off Shamhan. He hit one of the policemen in the eye and blood sprayed onto his uniform. The policeman pulled the cosh out of his belt and hit the man on his back and on the back of his head. The man fell over onto Shamhan, covering him with his big coat.

  Yiza had woken up. She stood pale-faced in front of her chair, and Arian stood pale-faced in front of his chair. He took her by the hand and they walked across the room, walked to the door and left the police station and walked into the snowstorm, they held each other’s hands and walked and didn’t turn around.

  Yiza whimpered and kept saying something, but Arian couldn’t understand her; he kept saying something, too, but Yiza couldn’t understand. They both whimpered, but they didn’t stop walking, and they didn’t look round, and neither of them let go of the other’s hand. It wasn’t snowing any more. The street was wet and glittered in the light of the street lamps. The black sky was low above them, they could almost feel it on their heads. But the wind was even harsher now. There weren’t many cars around.

  Then they couldn’t go any further.

  Yiza didn’t want to walk any more. Arian pulled her along behind him. But she just fell over. She just lay on the pavement. She just fell asleep on the pavement. He picked her up and dragged her a little way. He wasn’t very strong. He left her there and carried on walking. But then he turned back and crouched down beside her.

  Yiza, he said. Arian, he said. And he said: Nothing. Those were all the words they had in common.

  Yiza got up, and they kept walking. But then they really couldn’t go any further. Neither of them could go any further. Arian saw a lorry parked on the other side of the road. He knew about lorries. They ran across the road. Arian walked around the lorry, he got up on the footplate and looked into the cab. Yiza waited for him to come back. She slept standing up. The cover over the back of the lorry was secured with straps. Arian undid one of the straps. He lifted Yiza up and she climbed inside, then he followed her. They felt their way forwards in the dark. There was a pile of folded tarpaulins against the wall between the back of the lorry and the cab. They covered themselves with one and fell asleep at once. They lay face to face, giving each other their warm breath. Arian’s fingers clutched the lighter in his trouser pocket.

  They didn’t wake up when the engine started. They didn’t wake up when the lorry started to move. Or when it left the city. The sun rose into a cold, cloudless sky, and Yiza and Arian slept. Then the lorry pulled up, the driver switched off the engine, and they woke up. They woke at the same time. They were hungry. They weren’t frightened.

  But they didn’t crawl out from under the tarpaulin. They heard voices. They didn’t understand the language of this country. The voices didn’t sound angry. They didn’t sound good, either. Then the cover was thrown back. Beautiful sunlight fell onto the truck bed. Yiza and Arian didn’t see it. They were lying under their tarpaulin. Just once, Arian worked his finger through the folds and peered out. He could see it was very bright. But that was all. Yiza whispered in his ear, and he whispered in her ear. I can’t understand you, he sai
d, be quiet, don’t say anything else. But she went on whispering. Until he put his hand over her mouth.

  The lorry was being loaded with palettes. Men were pushing them to the back and piling them one on top of another. No one paid any attention to the tarpaulins at the back, by the cab wall. The palettes were pushed close together, eventually filling the whole lorry. The cover was strapped on and the lorry pulled away. Arian and Yiza didn’t have much room to move now. The drive shaft beneath them made the floor warm.

  A little light came in through the rips in the cover. And a stream of cold air. They pulled up their hoods, not worrying about what would happen next. They sat close together. Hemmed in by the palettes and the back wall of the lorry, they couldn’t move much. They couldn’t change places. But they didn’t worry; for a little while everything was good. There were jars in the palettes. Filled with edible things. Peaches in juice. Pears in juice. Cherries in juice. In the palette underneath were tins of peas, tins of beans, tins of carrots and peas. Tins of pearl onions. Arian pulled a jar of peaches out from one of the palettes. He tried to unscrew the lid. He couldn’t do it. Yiza couldn’t do it, either. Arian pulled out a tin of peas. He opened it by pulling the metal ring. He pocketed the lid. He handed the can to Yiza, squeezed it so that the rim formed a little spout, and showed her how to drink the peas. He took a second tin, and they drank and chewed peas and looked each other in the eye all the while. The portions were small, they didn’t sate their hunger, and they each ate a second and a third tin. They pocketed the lids and the empty tins.

  They were feeling slightly sick. They would have liked to sit beside each other and stretch their legs out. But there wasn’t room for that. And so they sat opposite each other, their legs pulled up. They breathed cautiously and didn’t move. They were frightened of being sick. They leaned back and fell asleep. But they didn’t sleep deeply. They could feel it when the lorry went round a bend or stopped at a traffic light or drove down pot-holed roads. The peas were salted, their thirst woke them.