The Thing I'm Most Afraid Of

by Kristin Levine

  After the march, we all went back to Katarina’s house. We had cake and tea, and eventually, everyone started to head home. Right before Rasheed’s family was ready to leave, Frau Kumar’s pager buzzed. “May I use your phone?” she asked.

  She disappeared into the kitchen, and when she returned a few minutes later, she was smiling. “They found her.”

  “Thank goodness,” Katarina said. “Where is she?”

  “In a detention center near the border.”

  “How do we get her out?” Dad asked.

  “That’s going to be trickier,” Frau Kumar said. “Depends on what paperwork you have.”

  “I don’t have anything,” Dad said. “Katarina?”

  Katarina looked down at her hands, tapping her red manicured nails against her palm. “Sara applied for asylum when she first arrived. It was denied, and she received TPS. She didn’t have a work permit. I was very clear that the au pair arrangement was a casual favor between friends. I didn’t want her to get in trouble!”

  “Did she have a driver’s license?” Frau Kumar asked. “Or even a student ID card?”

  Katarina shook her head. “Sara didn’t drive.”

  “She has a student ID,” I said. I’d seen her use it at a museum.

  “But she kept it in her wallet,” Felix added. “Which was also stolen.”

  Frau Kumar sighed. Her T-shirt and jeans were rumpled from the protest; her light brown hair was falling out of its ponytail.

  “Sara was here legally,” Dad said. “Isn’t her name on a list or something?”

  “Most definitely,” Frau Kumar said. “But how do we prove she really is that person on the list?”

  “But we know her!” Katarina explained. “Can’t we just sign something saying we vouch for her?”

  “It’s doable,” Frau Kumar agreed. “But it will take a while.”

  “Would it help if you had a copy of her passport?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. If we could prove who she is and that she was here legally, I could get her released quickly and—”

  “Sara said she was going to make a copy,” I interrupted. “When we went to the police station to get the stamp she needed.”

  “I already searched her room,” Katarina said. “There’s nothing.”

  “I’d like to look,” I said.

  “Of course! Be my guest.”

  I ran upstairs. I’d never been in Sara’s room before. It looked almost identical to mine: bed, desk, bookcase. Her violin was in the corner; a picture of her, a woman, and a little boy sat in a small frame on the desk. That must be her family. The room felt oddly bare. As if she hadn’t let herself get too attached. As if she had felt she was only visiting.

  I opened the closet and saw the fancy dress hung on a hanger. There were only a few other clothes, mainly black.

  Where would Sara put something to keep it safe?

  I searched the drawers of the desk, the bookshelves, and under the bed. All the obvious places. In a dresser drawer I found extra copies of the flyer Sara had posted at the airport: Ich suche Petra Tahirović, 44, und Eldin Tahirović, 6. Even though we knew where she was, it felt like Sara was lost too.

  Finally, I returned to the closet. There was a shelf above the hangers. I didn’t see anything on it, but I reached up and felt around just to be sure.

  There was something there! I pulled it out and found a small box. I couldn’t read the writing on it, but there was a picture of a woman with her hair dyed green. I was about to put it back when I remembered what the old woman on the train had said. Sara had yelled Green hair! as they’d dragged her off. My heart started to beat faster.

  I shook the box. It felt empty. Of course it was. She’d used it to dye that streak of hair green when she’d first arrived. She’d kept the box only to remember her mother. Unless . . . Quickly, I opened it.

  Inside were two sheets of paper. Two photocopies, folded into quarters. I unfolded them slowly, my hands trembling. The first was a copy of Sara’s passport, the page with her photo and all her info. The second was a copy of the page with her TPS stamp.

  “I found it,” I called. But I was crying so hard, no one could hear me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and tried again. “I found it!” I yelled.

  And they all came running.

  * * *

  The next day involved waiting. Lots of waiting. It was Sunday, so the offices we needed weren’t open. Frau Kumar told us she would call if she heard anything.

  We tried to distract ourselves. Felix and I played so many games of Mensch Ärgere Dich Nicht, I was afraid I was going to be dreaming about little colored pegs. We went for a walk in the vineyards. Katarina made goulash again, and it tasted even better without the bugs. Over dinner, Dad read us facts from the paper. “Approximately three hundred thousand people attended the march in Vienna last night. There were also demonstrations in Graz, Linz, Innsbruck, and Salzburg.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “The population of Vienna is only 1.7 million.” Felix made some notes on the edge of the paper. “That’s almost eighteen percent of the entire city population.”

  “I’m glad we were there,” Katarina said.

  “Me too,” Dad agreed.

  “Do you think Haider will get his million signatures?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Katarina sighed. “He has one week. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  A week? I was supposed to go home in just over a week. Next Saturday, August 28, was the ball. Sara and Marco were supposed to dance in the opening. We were all planning to attend, not only Dad and Katarina but Felix’s friends and their families too. It had sounded like so much fun! But without Sara, I didn’t want to go at all.

  I was just getting ready for bed when the phone rang. I stood on the stairs, my toothbrush in my mouth, as Dad picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  He looked serious for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, thank goodness.” He listened a moment longer. “Wonderful, we’ll see you there. Thanks again.”

  “What happened?” I asked, trying not to spit toothpaste on the banister.

  “Frau Kumar got through to a friend of a friend. We’re supposed to show up at ten a.m. tomorrow at the detention center, take the papers we have, and hopefully, we’ll be able to bring Sara home.”

  I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, but I must have, because I closed my eyes and next thing I knew, my alarm was going off.

  We piled into the car, with Katarina driving because she knew the roads best. Dad rode shotgun, and Felix and I were in the back. I didn’t think we’d all been in the car together since they’d picked me up from the airport. I remembered how squishy it had been then, with Sara in the back with Felix and me. I longed for it to be crowded again.

  It was about an hour’s drive to the detention center. We parked in a small lot out front and went inside. It was an ugly low concrete building, nothing like the massive police station we’d gone to with Sara to get her passport stamped. Frau Kumar was waiting for us when we arrived. She had on a tailored black suit and high heels, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. I almost didn’t recognize her—she looked so different from the casual, friendly woman we’d seen two days before.

  “Good,” she said. “You’re on time. Kids, stay here.”

  Felix and I were left on two folding chairs in the concrete-block lobby. Felix pulled out the copy of Lincoln’s speeches we’d given him for his birthday. “Do you want me to read aloud?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Felix started to read something about a house divided, but I was so distracted, the book might as well have been written in German. I kept folding and refolding my hands in my lap, crossing and uncrossing my legs. Was there ever a folding chair this hard and uncomfortable? Finally, we heard the click of heels on the tile floor, and Frau Kumar appeared around the
corner. “Come on,” she said. “They are going to let her go.”

  We followed her down a corridor that seemed eerily familiar, though whether it reminded me of the police station or the opera or the school cafeteria back home, I couldn’t quite tell. Dad and Katarina were waiting in a small room with a table and four chairs. We went inside, but before we could even sit down, the far door opened.

  And there was Sara.

  CHAPTER 37

  The Heartbeat of the Universe

  It was hard to believe it had been a week since I’d seen her. Her stained T-shirt was gone. Instead, she wore light-blue sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both too large. Her eyes were big and sad. Her green lock of hair hung like a new leaf on a branch over her forehead.

  I ran and gave her a hug.

  That’s when she started to cry. “You came,” she whispered. “You came.”

  “Of course!” I said. “You’re family.”

  Everyone else wanted a hug too. Katarina had wisely brought some of Sara’s own clothes and a hairbrush. She went to the bathroom to change and came out looking more like herself, in black jeans and a gray T-shirt.

  “Oh!” I said. “I kept this safe for you.” I handed her a folded piece of notebook paper.

  Sara knew what it was without even unfolding it. “My list!” she exclaimed. “Where?”

  “I found your purse with the strap cut in the train bathroom. It was empty, except for a ponytail holder. And your list. That’s how we knew something was wrong!”

  “List?” Dad asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “We all made lists,” I explained. “Sara wrote stuff she wants to do when she goes back to Bosnia and sees her family again. I wrote down stuff I wanted to try, like . . . learn to ride a bike.”

  “It’s why I agreed to go to the Heuriger,” Felix admitted. “Have a birthday party was on mine.”

  I could tell Dad wanted to ask more questions, but at that moment, a guard came in with some papers for Katarina to sign and a plastic bag full of Sara’s belongings. As if she had been in jail! Sara opened the bag, pulled out her necklace, put it on, then threw her old stained T-shirt and jeans in the trash, as if she never wanted to look at them again. Another woman came in with a folder full of papers; she and Katarina whispered back and forth in German for a long time.

  Finally, the woman stood up, and it seemed like we were all going to be able to go home.

  But at the last moment, yet another guard came in and whispered in Frau Kumar’s ear. “Wait a moment,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Frau Kumar followed the guard out of the room. No one spoke. I reached out and held Sara’s hand.

  “Are you hungry?” Katarina asked.

  Sara nodded.

  “We made goulash yesterday. There’s lots of leftovers,” I said.

  “And no bugs this time,” Felix added.

  Sara gave a weak smile. “Why taking so long?” she asked, in a voice so low I almost couldn’t hear her.

  “I’m sure it’s just a formality,” said Dad.

  “They probably need another signature or something,” Katarina added.

  Still, it felt tense. It was an ugly little room, with nothing on the walls. What if they changed their minds?

  Finally, the door opened again, and Frau Kumar entered.

  “Everything okay?” Sara asked desperately.

  “With your case . . . yes, yes. It’s fine.” Frau Kumar had an odd look on her face. “It’s just . . . there’s been a development.”

  “What kind of development?” Dad asked.

  “Did they catch those thieves who stole her passport?” I asked.

  “No, unfortunately not. However, there is a person . . .” She looked down at her notes. “Actually two people who claim to know Sara.”

  “I not understand,” Sara said.

  “Apparently, all the detainees have been talking about the young woman who speaks many languages.” Frau Kumar glanced at the paper again. “Sara, do you know Petra and Eldin Tahirović?”

  We all looked over at Sara.

  Her green eyes were so wide. “That’s my mama and my little brother.”

  “Well, they’re here.”

  “What?” Katarina demanded.

  “Where?” Dad asked.

  “In a different section of the building. I think they’ve been here a couple of weeks.” She flipped through her notes. “It’s a little unclear.”

  “May I see them?” Sara asked.

  “I can do better than that,” Frau Kumar said. “There’s a lot of overcrowding here. If someone were to vouch for them, agree to pay for the costs of housing and feeding them while they applied for TPS benefits, I might be able to get them released.”

  “Released?” Sara asked.

  “Meaning they could go home with you. Today.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll vouch for them,” Katarina said.

  “You can put my name down as well,” Dad said.

  Frau Kumar smiled broadly then. “Okay, then, if you can be patient a few more minutes . . .”

  She left the room. Sara was crying again. I went over and put my arm around her. “Sara, it’s okay,” I whispered. “You’re gonna see your mom again. And your brother. We can bake him a cake!”

  “And your little brother can sleep on my top bunk,” Felix offered.

  Katarina nodded. “You can all stay as long as you—”

  The door opened again, and we all jumped. But it was only Frau Kumar. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Sara, if you’d come with me. We thought it might be better not to overwhelm them with everyone at once. Your family is waiting in the next room.”

  * * *

  Sara’s mother, it turned out, was short and thin, with an angular face and green eyes like her daughter. Her long dark hair was arranged in a messy bun, with streaks of gray spread across it like a spiderweb. She wore the same light-blue sweats as Sara. Katarina kept apologizing for not bringing her extra clothing, even though we hadn’t known she would be there.

  Sara’s brother still had a baby face, with big round eyes and chubby cheeks. When I met him, he was holding Sara’s hand and refusing to let go.

  * * *

  By the time we all made it home, it was late afternoon. We put a big spread on the table: goulash and rice and Semmeln. But the meal, which I’d been so eagerly looking forward to in the car, imagining it as a heartful reunion full of hugs and laughter, like the time when Jimmy was finally reunited with his twin brother, Johnny, on Love on the Evening Tide, turned out to be kind of awkward.

  Mrs. Tahirović and Eldin spoke no German, so Sara had to translate whenever they wanted to say anything, even “Pass the salt.” Eldin gobbled up everything in sight, stuffing goulash and bread into his mouth, until halfway through the meal, he threw up. Sara changed him into some of Felix’s outgrown clothes, then settled him down on the couch to watch TV, where he promptly fell asleep. Mrs. Tahirović drank a cup of coffee but ate little and said even less. “Mama says her tooth hurts,” Sara explained finally. “She broke it a couple of months ago and . . . she’d like to go lie down.”

  “Of course,” Katarina said. “The bed has clean sheets. And I’ll make an appointment at the dentist for tomorrow.”

  Sara carried her sleeping brother upstairs, her mother following slowly. “It’ll be all right,” Dad said as Felix and I cleared the table and helped with the dishes. “After all they’ve been through, they’re just going to need some time to adjust.”

  * * *

  Sara came down in the early evening and asked Felix and me if we wanted to take a walk. The three of us headed off into the vineyards. The sun was warm, and the fields smelled slightly of manure. A light breeze rustled the grape leaves. We walked for a long time without saying a word.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I
asked.

  “No,” said Sara. “And yes. It was so scary when they took me off the train! I’m sorry I left you there alone.”

  “It’s not your fault!” I insisted.

  “We were fine,” Felix added.

  “They were supposed to let me make a call, but . . . the border police said I be allowed to at the detention center. And at the center, they said I should have already made my call!” She shook her head.

  “What was it like in detention?” Felix asked.

  “There were two other women in my room, both older than me. One woman sat there and stared at the wall. Rumor was her daughter had been taken by the Serbian Army. I never heard her say a word. The other woman was nice, a little younger than my grandmother, but she spoke absolutely no German, so I had to explain what was going on. She did not even understand we were not in real jail, just Schubhaft.”

  “What’s Schubhaft?” I asked.

  “It means being detained because we had crossed the border illegally, not because we had committed any other crime.”

  Felix snorted. “Still sounds a lot like jail to me.”

  “I guess it was,” Sara said. “The cell had wooden platforms for beds. There was a thin mattress and a blanket on each one. The blankets were kind of dirty, but we got three meals a day. We had to eat everything with a spoon.”

  “Sounds awful!” I said. “I’m so sorry, Sara.”

  “The worst part was that there was nothing to do. The older woman had a deck of cards, and there was one Heimatroman.”

  “That’s like a romance novel,” Felix explained.

  “Yeah. A lawyer moves to a tiny Alpine village and falls in love with a milkmaid. It was pretty bad, but I read it three times.”

  “Did they ever let you out of the cell?” I asked.

  “Once a day, we went outside and walked around in the courtyard. It was never for very long, but I got to talk to some of the other prisoners. Most of them were also from Bosnia, but I was the only one who spoke good German. I sometimes got extra time outside because the guards liked that I could understand them.”