Empire of Mud

by James Suriano

  “Wait …” I only wanted him to hear my voice and know my commands would come when I was ready. I trusted the unfamiliar steady confidence coursing through my body.

  “Wait for what?” He reached back and his hand brushed my sari.

  I pulled the blade but didn’t slice his neck. He let out an involuntary squeak.

  “Where is my daughter?”

  “I don’t know who you are.”

  His tone told me he was being honest.

  “Shula. I’m Shula and my daughter is—”

  “Ruka.” Her name confirmed his understanding. “What are you doing here? You should be attending to my good friend Mohamed.”

  “Your good friend Mohamed is a murderer.”

  “That’s an accusation, which in his country would get you hanged. How did you get away? It seems improbable. You were paid so little.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Because I receive my share at a certain threshold,” he said, “and I’ve received nothing.”

  “I want my daughter back.”

  “It’s out of my hands.”

  I knew if he turned around now, I might lose my fortitude.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  “Had you stayed put, you might have run into her. I heard you were getting around town with some regularity.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Dubai.”

  I let the blade slide. I knew as it cut across his neck that I was cutting mine too. A man with this much power could crush me like a mosquito.

  He shrieked.

  I heard stirring outside.

  “I’ll get her for you, for whatever … Just don’t …”

  I kept pulling the blade, and then it was away from his neck.

  He fell to the ground.

  A voice came from outside. “Is everything okay in there?”

  Split

  Khalid kept his promise and never breathed a word of what I had done to him. He blamed the thin red line on his neck on an accident involving a fishing line he didn’t see. Two days later, I was sitting on a plane again; it wasn’t lost on me that I’d gone from never leaving the bottom half of my small island nation to my third flight in the last two months.

  It was a repeat from the last time I’d left Sri Lanka. A cadre of women, with hopes and dreams, glossy images of their destinations in their heads. They tried to include me in the lighthearted banter, the epic delight of what they thought was their future. Khalid was with us; I caught him stealing nervous glances in my direction. He had nothing to worry about since I always upheld my end of the deal. But it was okay that he didn’t know that. Three hours into the flight, I got up from my seat, holding the backs of the others as we crisscrossed a turbulent section of sky, and walked four rows until I was next to him. He was reclined in his seat, fingers laced on his lap, a drowsy smirk on his face, the line on his neck scabbed over.

  “Khalid, I’d like to talk to you.” My sudden proximity startled him.

  “You’re going, no? This is what you wanted.”

  “I can’t leave the airport. You’ll have to retrieve my daughter for me.”

  He pushed the button on his armrest and the back of the seat to bring himself upright.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Bring her back to the airport so she can come home with me.”

  He shook his head, then looked around. “I can’t do that, Ms. Shula. She’s under contract and so are you. But I would guess Mohamed might be more amenable to letting you out of yours.”

  I fixated on the line across his neck.

  “You’re no danger to me here,” he said.

  “Then what? I go back and have to stay?”

  “You go back and stay, but you’ll know where your daughter is. You don’t think you’re the first one, do you? The first woman to work alongside her children? There is work to be done in Dubai, and your country is content to send its citizens in a river of supply to meet that demand.”

  I was going full circle but in the wrong direction. I was ending in the place I never wanted to see again. I’d brought the third egg with me. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but it was the only thing of value I owned, and getting out the second time would likely be even more difficult.

  “Have you spoken to Mohamed?”

  He seemed caught off guard by the question. “I don’t remember. I speak to a lot of people. You don’t have to go back to him, but you’ll be homeless. I can put you to work with your daughter, if you wish.”

  There was a twinkle in that statement that told me he would stand to make even more money if he could place me there.

  “And where is that?” I hadn’t even thought to ask what she was doing when I had interrogated him.

  “She picks rocks for an area where a building will go. Clearing the land. We save the most demanding work for the young.”

  Did he have no idea what my life was like at home?

  “Then put me where she is.”

  He acknowledged me.

  The plane landed a few hours later, and the flight attendant asked me to keep seated while the other passengers disembarked. She put her arm across the seats while she stood. It might have been a casual stance, except her painted pink fingernails dug into the seat. When the last passenger stood in the aisle, waiting to get off, she moved and forced a smile for me to exit. I didn’t pay her much attention as I passed her. As I continued through the airplane door and into the long connector bridge, everything was how I remembered. One more door and I was in the airport. The carpet changed its pattern there. Four pairs of patent leather boots were lined up. As my orange flip-flops crossed the threshold, a strong hand slipped under my arm.

  It was the police, and they had surrounded me. All I could see were their black vests with red stripes as they led me away. The anger that burned in me for Khalid intensified. He had to have set this up. No one else would have known I was coming, and I was traveling with a different name. The police didn’t ask any questions; it was all prearranged.

  “What have I done?” I knew Mohamed would charge me with many crimes. The evidence would be his word against mine, which was all the evidence the court would need.

  This time I had walked into Dubai’s mouth knowing I could be devoured.

  Court

  After three days in a holding cell, I stood facing the judge. The black glass behind his elevated bench showed the Emirati flag, centered and garishly illuminated. The walls of the courtroom were glossy wood, inlaid with small print in Mohamed’s language. Mohamed himself was on the other side of the courtroom, glaring at me. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to silence me or figure out what I actually knew about his life.

  The judge looked sternly at me, through gold glasses with colored lenses that made him look more like a performer than a judge. He spoke at me, but I didn’t understand what he was saying. They were harsh words, and I felt as though their intention was to strip me bare.

  A lawyer named Breva had been assigned to me at the last minute. She spoke my language and told me I was being charged when I met her before entering the courtroom. She was beside me now. “The judge said you have been accused of theft, abandonment of contract, and illegally leaving the country.” Her breath was sweet, as if she’d eaten pineapples before she’d spoken to me. She wore a rose suit with a matching head covering and a brooch of a gold cat. “I’ve asked to see the contract and evidence of any theft.”

  “Do you know the truth?” I asked quietly.

  “That’s not important. You can tell it to me later.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t trust her, I thought. She could have been another element of the system distancing me from Ruka. But if I couldn’t trust her, all hope was lost.

  An attendant of the court retrieved papers from the judge and handed them to Breva. There was a picture of the eggs I had taken, along with the one they had recovered from me in the airport when they’d frisked me. I also saw a photo of my fake passport from Kumzar, whi
ch I had entered the country with this time, but it clearly lacked an exit stamp and the dates didn’t match my story. What they didn’t have was Ousha’s US passport, which was tucked away in my sari. And though it was uncomfortable, it was my solace that this might all turn out okay.

  The judge said something, and Breva leaned over to me. “He’s asking if there’s anything you would like to say.” The look on her face was discouraging me from opening my mouth.

  What could I say? “I’m innocent”? They didn’t ask why I had come back or why I’d done any of this.

  “Tell them Mohamed killed his baby, and that’s why I had to leave.”

  Breva froze in place, blinking repeatedly, as if she were trying to clear the information from her brain.

  “There is a dead baby in his house,” I said. “He killed it while I was out one day. It was why I had to leave.”

  She put her palm up to me. “Stop, Shula. You’ll get us both in trouble. You can’t accuse him of these things.”

  The clerk came to us and handed Breva another folder.

  The judge barked and rapped his gavel.

  Breva shook her head and said something to him; I knew she wasn’t communicating what I had said.

  He slammed the gavel again, then got up from his seat and left the room. The tension broke in the courtroom, and Mohamed and his team left through the main doors.

  Breva pointed to the seat behind me, sat down, and read through the folder. I looked up at the ceiling, where I saw a depiction of a holy book, with numbers and words next to it. My mind wandered to Ruka, working in the hot sun outside. I knew they would like her, because she never complained about hard work.

  The courtroom began to fill up again.

  “They’re offering you a deal,” Breva said.

  “For what?”

  “They’ll find you guilty of theft and illegal departure of the country and sentence you to five years of labor. But you must relinquish all your wages to Mohamed.” Without missing a beat she said, “You should take it.”

  “But—”

  “No, it’s not fair. No one said our justice system is fair; it just is what it is.”

  The main door opened, and everyone turned. It was Ousha. It was a surprise to see her. She wore a black suit with sequined embroidery that snaked up her head covering, forming a spiral over her forehead. She looked like a sorceress. She strutted up the center aisle of the courtroom as though she were on a runway. She was a different person than the broken woman I had witnessed in Kumzar. She stood in front of the judge and waited for him to acknowledge her.

  He was polite and casual with her, as though they were old friends. Mohamed watched with a pale expression, his body tilting back. I thought he might fall over. His team steadied him. Ousha’s mother was behind him, and she exploded into emotion when she caught sight of her. I heard Ousha say the name “Inesh” several times. Ousha had seized control of the moment, and I felt as though we were seconds away from the courtroom exploding.

  She spun around, turning her back to the judge, and pointed at Mohamed, shouting. Even Breva gasped, then turned to me. “This could be very good for you,” she said. This was news I wasn’t expecting.

  “She has accused him of murdering her friend. She clearly knows the judge. This won’t be good for him.”

  The judge rapped the gavel and said something.

  “He’s suspending the trial. You’ll go into custody, and I’ll come and meet with you as soon as I can.” Breva picked up her bag and hightailed it out of the courtroom, with no time for me to ask questions. The police waved me toward the door, while a separate force of police stormed the courtroom and detained Mohamed.

  …

  They brought me to a beige room with three chairs, a table, and a coffee machine. It looked like a break room more than a holding cell. The last officer who left tipped his hat and gently closed the door. I fixed myself some coffee and waited. The lights outside the door went out, and the sounds of the courthouse dulled.

  Several hours later, Breva knocked at the door. She had changed into a different suit and waved through the skinny vertical window over the doorknob. Her excited demeanor gave me pause.

  Now she was inside with me. “The judge said you can go.”

  “Where?”

  “You’re done. No more charges.”

  “Can you help me find my daughter?”

  She ignored my question, opened her folder, and set it in front of me. I couldn’t read the documents inside. But there was my fake passport from Kumzar and I put it in my pocket.

  “You need to sign these and then you can go.”

  “What about my things, the ones I had on the plane?”

  She tapped the blank lines of the documents. “Shula, just be happy you’re leaving.”

  “Do you want to know what really happened?”

  She put up a hand. “No. The truth won’t help anyone, because everyone here manufactures their own.”

  …

  I exited the building. On the other side of the door was a conditional freedom. I walked along the sidewalk, thankful the sun was still blocked by the tall buildings. A void engulfed me now. My only option was to search the city on foot, looking for Ruka, and when I found her, then what? Would I work beside her, both of us enslaved, until we could save enough money to buy our way home? Minrada would never help me this time.

  The door of a new white SUV opened, and Khalid stepped out. “You got lucky. Mohamed’s insane wife had impeccable timing. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you two ladies were in cahoots.”

  What did he want from me now?

  “Would you like to see your daughter?” He nervously touched his neck.

  “You know where she is?” I didn’t want to trust him; I didn’t want anything to do with him. But what choice did I have?

  “Of course.” He reached inside the car, pulled out two papers with pictures stapled onto them, and thrust them at me.

  They were pictures of an empty lot surrounded by orange plastic roll fencing. Ten children carted rocks and debris to an open truck bed parked on the road. Ruka was in the dress I’d made her. It was torn, though; that fabric should have lasted years, because I’d bought it with a month’s worth of wages. Her skin was the color of oil; the dress was discolored by dirt; her hair, which she had grown since she was a baby, with nights of combing coconut oil through, was broken and dry, tied in a ponytail by a piece of her dress that had been sheared away. I couldn’t look away from her. My baby was alive, and though she had looked better, her young body would recover.

  “Take me to her.”

  “Of course …” Khalid moved out of the way so I could get into the passenger seat.

  We pulled away from the curb and merged with the city traffic.

  “You’re a very creative woman. Different from the others I’ve placed. Driven.”

  I listened; compliments didn’t come from Khalid without his asking for something.

  “Could I interest you in helping me with a project?”

  “We only want to go home.” I stressed the word “home.”

  “But there’s so much opportunity in Dubai, a city of intense desire for everything the world has to offer.”

  His words meant little to me. He always talked in grand ambitions and sweeping phrases. It had dazzled me the first time we met, but I had since learned better.

  “Let someone else have it. We need to get home to my son.”

  He reached across the console and put his hand on my thigh. “So you can spend the rest of your life in poverty? That’s what you’re aiming for? Look around, Shula. There’s so much more for you here.” His smile was crooked, just like his morals.

  I didn’t know how to navigate this man. He was eternally selling gold paper as the precious metal itself. I thought it might make sense to be quiet.

  We arrived at the place in the pictures he had shown me. I scanned for Ruka, and then her lavender dress caught my eye. I pulled at the door h
andle before we stopped.

  “Patience.”

  I ignored him and fumbled with the lock.

  “Shula, you’re only going to have this offer once. Leaving Dubai will be impossible without me.”

  He didn’t know about Ousha’s US passport, which I’d been able to hide. But I still had the problem of how to get Ruka back. I decided not to play it safe. “Khalid, can I please see my daughter? I’ll work too, for you.”

  “I can get anyone to pick rocks. I need someone like Minrada.”

  Was that the truth? Did she work for him?

  “Minrada can go back whenever she likes,” Khalid said, “but she knows a good thing when it’s fallen in her lap.”

  He moved his hand farther up my thigh. I put my hand on top of his and pressed it to stop. I kept my eyes on my daughter. My anticipation was a ball of elastics, snapping within me at each second. After Khalid unlocked the door, his head gave an urging thrust toward Ruka.

  I bound out of the car minus grace. My feet dug into the firmament, kicking up the rocks that were complicit in my daughter’s predicament. She didn’t see me coming, because she was carrying a heavy load toward a conveyor belt that was ingesting the rocks and busting them into smaller pieces before they clanged into a metal bin.

  “Ruka!” I yelled when she was within earshot. Seeing she was alive and close enough that I could soon touch her made my heart strain with affection. “Ruka, Ruka, Ruka?”

  She never looked up; she kept working. When I reached her, I threw my arms around her hunched back as she heaved the rocks forward. She pulled away from me in the way an animal, intent on a destination, ignores the touch of the people who wish to show it love.

  “Baby girl, put down your work for one minute. It’s your mama.” I pulled at the basket, and it fell, tipping over. She bent to gather the rocks, but I forced myself in front of her so her eyes met mine. I smiled and searched her eyes for an iota of recognition.