Cycling to Asylum

by Su J. Sokol

  “Thank you.” Janie answers.

  I swallow hard and hold myself very quiet.

  Soon we’re pedalling again, the children’s first souvenirs adhering to their bikes. Bienvenue, I think, my body weak with relief and gratitude.

  For a long time, I just pedal. The kids’ excited chatter is a warm background that’s somehow very far from me. I’m feeling blank. I’m hoping it will pass. And not get worse. There’s almost no one on the road. This is good. There are trees, sky, ground, dirt, insects, corn fields. I feel like I’m nowhere, but I know exactly where we are. I see a precise map of our location in my mind. I see us moving along our route. I shift my mind’s eye upward and see the next few kilometres of the road. Up some more and I can see the town where I thought we’d stop. Higher still and I can see the border crossing behind us, Siri’s camp in Vermont, Janie’s folks’ place in Albany. And behind all that, our lost home in Brooklyn. Far ahead I can see Montréal. I mean, I can see where it is on the map. But I can’t see it. Not really. The people, the streets, the buildings, our lives. I just can’t see it.

  Panic pours through me. I’m shaking so badly I can’t keep my bike straight. I stop. I feel like I need to do something, but I’m not sure what. Pee or shit or throw up or have sex or slit my throat. One of those things. The last one, I think. I try to push that thought away. I look around, desperate to fix onto something steady, something safe. I see the trees. Mumble to my family about needing to pee. I let go of my bike.

  I walk into the woods. Get to a tree. Stop. I look back at Janie. She motions me further in. I walk more. See another tree. Stop. What am I doing here? Where am I going? My head is spinning, I can’t think straight. Please, what have I done, what am I doing to my family? I’m sitting on the ground now. I steady myself against the tree with one hand. My other hand is in the dirt, digging a hole with my finger. I don’t know where I am. I’m lost.

  The next thing I know, Janie’s beside me, holding me. I inhale her familiar scent, cupping her head in my palm. My fingers are in her hair, trying to hold on to reality. I’m still lost but no longer alone.

  “It’s OK, it’s gonna be OK,” she’s saying.

  “Oui, ça va aller,” I hear myself reply. Janie looks at me in confusion. “Yeah, s’OK, I’m OK.” I stand up with her.

  “You sure?” She seems alarmed by my lapse into French.

  “Yeah, it’s passed. I’m fine.”

  Janie wraps her arms around my waist. “You were great at the border. I had no idea you’d become so fluent.” She squeezes me tight, bringing me fully back into the world. When she tries to step back, I hold her against me. She pushes me away gently with her hand on my chest.“The kids are waiting. And if you speak more French to me later, in the tent, who knows?”

  We walk over to where the kids are. Siri’s looking worried, but Simon’s in his own world.

  “Hey, race you to the top of the hill!” I say.

  I let the kids get a head start and wait while Janie struggles with her heavy, sturdy bicycle, a ton of luggage strapped on. I take off after her, standing to pedal hard towards the top of the hill. The sun’s pushing aside some clouds to make its first appearance of the day. I see Simon in the lead, imagine him thinking “vroom, vroom, vroom” as he pulls out ahead. Siri’s right behind, pedalling for all she’s worth, “go, go, go, go,” with her powerful, young legs and determined heart. And Janie, sweat darkening her curls, push, push, pushes up the hill, not even thinking of slowing down as I pump beside her. I’m careful not to get ahead.

  Simon has made it to the top first and has stopped dead. He’s staring up and out. Like he’s transfixed. The rest of us stop too and then I see it. A double rainbow, stretched across the sky. Like the earth is a big, beautiful present that’s being offered to us, gift wrapped and ready.

  “Is it real?” Simon asks in a hushed voice.

  “Of course it’s real,” Siri answers. “You think Mommy and Daddy shot a giant holo into the sky for our amusement or something?

  “Hush,” Janie says. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I drop my bike gently to the ground and join my family, standing behind Janie and pulling the three of them in close. I don’t speak. I look from the background of sky, an almost unnaturally dark blue, to the perfection of the rainbow, to the brightening land, and back to the sky again. I have this sense that if I wasn’t holding on to my family, I’d fly up into the air and my molecules would scatter everywhere.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Simon

  One thing’s for sure, there’s less roadkill on the Québec side of the border. The first time we passed a dead animal in Vermont, I wanted to stop and bury it, but Mommy said no. Daddy looked sad and put his hand on my shoulder. I think if it were up to him, he would’ve stopped to bury it too. Today I’m happy because there are alive animals all around—cows mostly, black and white or brown, just hanging out and chewing grass. I saw llamas too. I didn’t know llamas lived in Québec. And there was a horse who raced me on my bike!

  All of a sudden, I see something small and furry and orangey-brown. I hit my brakes.

  “Hey, what the hell!” Siri yells at me. I turn around and see her bike skidded out sideways. “I could’ve smashed right into you!”

  “What’s going on?” Mommy’s caught up to us now.

  “I had to stop or I would’ve killed an animal,” I explain.

  “What animal? What are you talking about?” says Siri.

  “There.” I point to the little furry beastie crawling on the road in front of us.

  “That’s not an animal, dummy.” Siri says. “That’s an insect, a caterpillar.”

  “It’s alive and it crawls, so that means it’s an animal and I don’t kill animals. Do you want to make it into roadkill?”

  “Do you want to make me into roadkill? What’s more important: me or an insect?”

  Daddy, who’d been up ahead, is squatting down in the road watching the caterpillar. He picks it up and lets it walk around on his hand. “I don’t think Simon was choosing between you and the caterpillar, Siri. It was just instinct that made him brake.”

  “He hasn’t even said he’s sorry, Daddy!”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “Let’s just keep going,” Daddy says. He puts the caterpillar in some green leaves on the side of the road and walks back over to his bike.

  “You would take his side,” Siri says. And then she mumbles. “Probably did something dumb like that yourself when you got into your accident.”

  I look ahead to Daddy. He stops for a second but doesn’t turn. Then he gets on his bike. Did he hear? Well, Mommy sure did. Now she’s yelling at Siri. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m tired of Simon cutting in front of me all the time. And then stopping so I almost run into him. He’s hyper-annoying, and … and dangerous!” Mommy just looks at her. “And why can’t I call Michael? Why aren’t I allowed to use my screen?”

  Daddy turns around. “Let her have her screen, Janie. I don’t think there’s any harm in it now. And Simon, let your sister go ahead for a change. You can switch back later. OK, let’s go.”

  Siri still looks all grumbly even though she just got her way on two things and didn’t even say thanks. She’s been acting like she’s mad at Daddy all day, but I don’t know why.

  I thought Siri might ask me about what happened to Daddy this summer. I’m not sure what I should tell her if she does. Daddy and Mommy still don’t know that I know how he got hurt. If I tell Siri, maybe they’ll find out somehow.

  Siri’s ahead now and I’m trying to bike slowly and peacefully. The roads are calm, sometimes straight and sometimes curvy. It’s very quiet. There’s hardly anyone around. The sky is big and blue and you can see it all around you. It makes me want to breathe in all the air I can. I’ve never seen a sky like this, but I know it’s part of the same sky we have in Brooklyn. But the air smells different. It’s heavy and tastes
green. Sometimes it smells like poop, but not like a bathroom. I have this feeling that if I got to look at this big sky and breathe its free air all the time, I’d never have an asthma attack again.

  There’s a sign up ahead. I read it in French first: “Vignoble biologique.” Then I put on the magic glasses the tourist-office person gave us. The letters pop out at me, in English this time: “Organic vineyard.” Purple and green grapes are dancing around the letters. Mommy bikes past me and catches up to Daddy. They talk to each other and then Daddy signals us to stop.

  We walk inside the “vignoble.” Bottles of wine are stacked everywhere. Daddy talks to the woman behind the counter in French and soon she’s filling glasses with different wines. I walk around the room and look at everything. I see Mommy letting Siri have a taste of the wine, but I’m not interested. Wine is sour, like how this room smells. I see some bars of fancy chocolate, though, and look at Mommy and Daddy hopefully. They’re drinking down their glasses of wine and laughing. They don’t notice me and the chocolate. A girl comes in and sees me looking. She takes a bar of the chocolate, which is square instead of rectangular, and asks me something. I tell her, “Je ne parle pas français,” like Daddy taught me. She giggles and holds out the bar. I look around, shrug and take a piece. The chocolate is kind of bitter, like the wine maybe, but also good—not plasticky the way chocolate at the store tastes sometimes. I say “merci.” She says another bunch of words and I shrug. She points to the door. She’s probably like two years younger than me, but playing with her would be less boring than watching Mommy and Daddy drink wine.

  “Mommy, Daddy, can I go outside?”

  Daddy looks from me to the girl and smiles. It’s Mommy who answers, though.

  “Sure, sweetheart. Don’t go far. We’ll meet you outside in a little bit.”

  I follow the girl. It’s amazing how much you can understand without talking. She brings me to see her dog and two cats. I pet him or her—I can’t tell if it’s a boy dog or girl dog. One of the cats turns around and walks off, like he or she’s bored of all of us and has something way better to do somewhere else. Soon Siri comes out too.

  “Mommy and Daddy are getting drunk. I hope neither one of them falls off their bike. Especially Daddy. He already got hurt enough, right?”

  I wait, but she doesn’t ask me anything. Siri shrugs and starts picking up rocks and throwing them towards some trees. Siri can throw very far. I look at the girl. She’s watching Siri and looks surprised but not mad or anything. Then she offers Siri a piece of chocolate, saying something that sounds excited. I think she’s either impressed by Siri’s arm or she’s talking about how yummy she thinks her chocolate bar is. I wish I knew which, but my magic translation glasses don’t work on the girl.

  After a while, Mommy and Daddy come out and tell us it’s time to go.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “On to Farnham,” Daddy answers.

  “Are we staying at a hotel there tonight?” Siri asks.

  “No. We’re camping out.”

  “Like the Bicycling Family?” I ask.

  “Yep, except that you guys get your own tent,” Mommy says.

  I turn to the girl and say “Au revoir.” She reaches up and kisses me once on each cheek. Wow, this is the first time I’ve gotten kissed by a girl! Then she kisses Siri the same way. I wonder if it still counts.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Janie

  There are bodies falling from the sky. It takes me a minute to connect them with the advertisement for “parachutisme” we passed a few minutes ago. When I first noticed the ad, I took it as a positive sign. A mystical message that we’d found our parachute, our daring escape. But watching these bodies plummet to earth, I’m not sure it’s a good sign after all.

  “Mommy, Daddy, look at that!” Simon shouts.

  Siri is straddling her bike, looking to where Simon’s pointing with a smile of wonder on her face that quickly morphs, even as I watch it, into a condescending adolescent smirk.

  As more and more parachutes unfold themselves in a rainbow of bright colours, my unease is replaced by awe. I strain my eyes to see the parachutists more clearly, to follow their progress in the sky. After a while, though, my view is blocked by trees and hills. I can’t see where they land, and more importantly, if they land safely. So how will I know what kind of sign it really was?

  “Mommy, when are you gonna give me back my screen? I need to make a call.”

  “When you can remember what I told you. One, that you have permission to send a text, not make a call, and two, that you can do it when we get to the campgrounds.”

  I know I’m nervous. Maybe I should apologize for biting her head off, but Siri’s been prickly and unpleasant all day. It’s getting on my nerves. Or is my grumpiness a cover for how guilty I feel? What we’re planning is going to be hard enough on the kids, but to do it without prior discussion, without any warning? I don’t even want to think about how that’s gonna go down. And the call I made while in town did little to bolster my confidence about any of this.

  Because my friend Roberto had a contact in Montréal, I allowed myself to believe that this plan of ours wasn’t as insane as I’d feared. I reasoned that if there’s an actual organization up here to help political refugees, that must mean something.

  Laek wanted to wait until we were in Montréal, but I thought it’d be safe if I used Siri’s screen and limited the conversation to less than a minute. Honestly, I don’t have a fucking clue what is or isn’t safe. Now that we’re in Québec, in these peaceful surroundings, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that the government could still have any interest in going after a pacifist teacher, let alone in chasing him across the border. When I made the call earlier, trying to push aside my paranoia, it was in the hope that it would result in some concrete reason for optimism, but all I was able to establish during the brief conversation was the obvious scepticism this local activist had about our plan to demand asylum. Even though I tried to hide how upset I was, I’m sure it was written all over my face. I saw how Laek looked at me.

  No, I shouldn’t have made that call. We’re supposed to be on vacation. This was what we told the kids and this is what we’re telling ourselves, at least until we get to Montréal and file our application. Until then, Laek and I are not technically lying about anything. Not really. When vacation time is over and we need to take our next step, that’s when we’ll explain to the kids.

  We arrive at the campsite and set up our tents. After a full day of biking and being out in nature, we’ve all worked up an appetite. I’m looking forward to the challenge of cooking on an open flame but three minutes trying to get a fire going from scratch is enough to make me want to kick our kindling apart in frustration.

  “Let me do this,” Laek says, taking the wood out of my hands.

  “I don’t know how they expect us to make a fire when they won’t let us collect twigs and smaller branches from the woods. I’m going to take a walk.”

  “Janie? Don’t come back here with stolen wood from the forest. I’m not going to need it and I will absolutely not use it.” He smiles to take the sting out but I see that he’s serious.

  “Can’t a person take a nature walk without being accused of eco-terrorism?”

  I decide to skip the walk and take out my ukulele instead. Each of us was allowed one comfort item on this trip, and this is mine. I tune it as I watch Laek patiently arrange the firewood. He uses a knife with a wicked-looking blade to cut and pry off smaller pieces of kindling from the logs we purchased at the general store. In practically the time it takes me to finish tuning my instrument, he has a strong fire going. I shake my head in admiration.

  After supper, I let the kids roast marshmallows to make s’mores. I feel funny using local, organic, raw dark chocolate with cheap graham crackers and artificial marshmallows.

  “Mommy, can I have my screen back now?”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

&nbs
p; “Just send a text.”

  “And who are you texting?”

  “Why are you trying to control my life?”

  Siri sounds furious. I answer her calmly.

  “Not your life, I just want to know who you’re texting.”

  “Who did you call before, using my screen?”

  I don’t answer her but feel Laek looking at me. I take a deep breath. I need to stop being so paranoid or Siri’s going to suspect something. Sitting here in the middle of the woods, the idea that the government already has a close trace on even our kids’ screens seems outlandish.

  “Fine, you’re right. You’re entitled to your privacy. Here.” I hand her the screen. “But text only.” Siri grabs the screen.“Siri?”

  “Yeah, OK Mommy, I heard you.” She heads for her tent.

  “Why don’t you get ready for bed, Simon?” I start rooting around in our bags for his toothbrush and a towel. “Should we ask Daddy to go with you?” I turn to Laek and see him staring intently into the flames. Simon looks over at Laek as well.

  “No, I can go by myself, Mommy. But I’ll need our most powerful glowlight.”

  “OK, here you go.” I watch our little explorer gear up for his intrepid foray to the bathroom. After Siri is done texting, the two of us join him. When we get back to our campsite, I notice that Laek has cleaned up and put out the fire. But he’s nowhere to be seen. He must either be in the bathrooms himself or already in the tent. He must be. I resist the urge to check. I won’t let him think that I don’t trust him.

  When the kids are both snug in their sleeping bags, I crawl into our tent to find Laek lying on his back playing with an object resting on his bare chest. I turn up the glowlight and see that the object is the knife with the scary blade I saw him using earlier. He’s spinning it around on his chest, stopping it every so often to check which way the blade is facing. The spinning reminds me of something. Yes, a roulette wheel. Russian roulette? But that’s played with a gun.