Lost Boys

by Darcey Rosenblatt

  Just then I heard footsteps, and the door started to open. I scooted back into a dark corner and made myself as small as possible. I looked around for the pipe, but it was across the room where I’d left it last night. I don’t know what I thought I’d do with it anyway. I pulled back farther into the corner. A man in work pants and a jacket grabbed an old bike and started out the door. I held my breath as he noticed my cardboard floor mat and stopped. He looked around the room and stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and left.

  I taught myself to breathe again. I decided that if Majid wasn’t here by dark I’d have to leave and take my chances, as slim as they might be. I sat in the back corner of the room and distracted myself, playing every tune I knew on my imaginary keyboard. I was lost in the third verse of Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” when the door creaked open again.

  My knees nearly buckled with relief when I heard Majid whisper, “Reza? Reza, are you here?”

  “I’m right here.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back yesterday. You must be starving.”

  I looked inside the paper bag he handed me. The chunk of cheese and some loose nuts and dates looked like a feast.

  “I got stuck yesterday. Two guards from the camp pulled in behind me as I arrived at the dump. I helped them search the truck.” He laughed quietly. “Afterward we smelled as bad as you do. But then once I got back to camp I couldn’t leave again. Abass wanted a repeat of the drinking session from the night before. I think he was hoping he could find out what happened to you, but no one seemed to know.” He smiled the widest smile I’d ever seen on his friendly face.

  “Is Ebi in trouble? Are any of the rest of them in trouble?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Once people realized you were gone, the guard who helped with the cans was questioned. He remembered talking to someone, but didn’t remember Ebi. Some of the guards think all you boys look alike. I didn’t volunteer any information, of course.”

  I felt like I’d been carrying around huge weights and could finally put them down. I took a bite of the hard cheese and had to force myself not to eat the whole piece in one gulp.

  “So let’s figure out what to do with you now. I have about an hour before I need to get back to camp. I brought you a change of clothes.” He handed me a bundle. “The pants will be a bit big. They belong to my brother, but at least they don’t smell or advertise you’re on the run.”

  I stripped off the stiff canvas, eager to leave them hidden in this dingy little room. “Thank you, Majid. I … I can’t thank you enough.”

  “The question is what to do next. You could hide in my brother’s apartment, and I could try to drive you north tonight.”

  “No, Majid, you’ve done so much for me. I don’t want to put you or anyone else in danger. If you can get me to a bus for Baghdad, you can leave me on my own.” I sounded much braver than I felt.

  “I suppose if we left straight away, I could get you to the outskirts of town, where you could catch the bus. But have you ever been in Baghdad before?”

  “No, but I’ve been in Tehran plenty of times.” I didn’t mention that I’d always been with my parents or my uncle.

  “What will you do there? It’s a big city.”

  “If I got there today, Miles might still be at the Red Crescent office. Maybe he could set me up with some work or somewhere I could hide out for a while.” Until I said this, I hadn’t realized how every electron in my body wanted to see Miles before he left. Was Ebi right? Would I go with him if he asked? “He was planning on leaving today, right?” I asked, trying to keep desperation out of my voice.

  “I think so. The major made it quite clear he was not welcome, and his visa was based on his work permit. If he’s on the Red Crescent plane that usually comes in and leaves the same evening, he could have left last night, or might be going tomorrow night, or even tonight.”

  Majid stepped back and eyed me critically. “I suppose Baghdad is the best place for you. Even without papers you might be able to find something. Better than under Abass’s eye anyway. Come, let’s get to the truck.” He handed me an old felt hat. “Wear this as well. Makes you look older.”

  Majid motioned me back as he opened the outside door. He looked up and down the street. “All right, into the cab, but slouch down in case you need to hide completely.”

  I climbed in and did as I was told. Majid pulled out into the flow of traffic. “Look in the glove box. I seem to remember a map of Baghdad in there. The Red Crescent office is in the Karrada neighborhood.”

  I rifled through papers and old rags in the glove box. I found a tattered map that looked like it was from a tourist brochure. “Here’s a map, but most of the streets don’t have names.”

  Majid ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s a confusing city. The streets have numbers and the buildings have numbers, but many of the streets don’t have names. You see the river there?”

  “Yes.” I traced my finger along the light blue line running through the center of the map.

  “That’s the Tigris, and it snakes through the whole city. If you can get yourself here”—he pointed to a place on the map where the river formed a peninsula of land—“that’s where the Karrada neighborhood is. You can ask directions when you get there. But remember”—he smiled—“with your Arabic, don’t do a lot of talking until you get somewhere safe.”

  “Thanks, I won’t.” I let a minute go by as I stole glances at the houses from under the hat. “I really appreciate this. I don’t know why you’re taking risks for me.”

  “I have two sons myself. They’re eight and ten. I’m hoping this war is over before they are old enough to be sent to fight, but if they were captured I pray someone would show them some kindness.”

  “I hope so, too,” I said.

  Neither of us said anything else until we reached the outskirts of town. Majid pulled the truck over where a wooden sign marked a bus stop. He put his hand on my shoulder. “This is as far as I can take you. A bus to Baghdad comes along every few hours.” He looked over his shoulder down the road. “If you’re lucky there should be one soon. Standing here at the bus stop is too exposed. I would stand back in those trees until you see the bus coming.”

  Majid reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins and a wrinkled bill. “This won’t get you far, but at least you can pay for the bus to Baghdad.” He glanced down the road again. “Who knows, when this is all done maybe I can find you. I’d like to come see you play music somewhere.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I needed to get out of the truck, but I wanted to thank Majid. Shaking the guard’s hand didn’t seem like enough to show my gratitude.

  Majid interrupted my thoughts. “Oh, I’m such a fool! I almost forgot.” He reached around behind the seats and wrestled with something. “Here, help me, boy. It’s the tar Miles left for you. I would have kicked myself if you’d left without it.”

  My eyes stung as I took the old leather case. I cleared my throat. “You’ve saved my life, Majid.” I gave a short, strangled laugh. “I’ll … I’ll find you someday. I’ll send you a tape.” I jumped out of the truck before he could see my tears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Majid pulled away and made a U-turn. He saluted as he headed back toward town and camp. I watched until the truck was at the horizon, then hurried back to the grove of trees as a car full of people pulled up to the stop.

  It was cooler under the trees. I crouched behind a shrub where I was hidden but still had a view of the road. A father and three young boys tumbled out of the car. I listened to the boys’ chatter. I wished I was part of their group, excited about my first trip to the city, my father’s hand on my shoulder.

  The sun was high in the sky. More people were dropped off; some talked, some stood by themselves and watched the long road. By the time ten people stood waiting, I thought it was safe to join the crowd. It couldn’t be long before the bus arrived. But just as I was ready to le
ave my hiding place, a jeep carrying two soldiers came to a screeching halt. The crowd, as one, took an involuntary step back.

  One of the soldiers got out of the car, eyeing everyone at the stop. I was glad for the Arabic Miles had taught. I heard the words young, boy, thirteen, yellow pants.

  A thorn rubbed against my ankle, but I didn’t dare move my leg. I was glad that Majid had thought to bring me a change of clothes.

  The father of the young boys shook his head, motioning toward the group as he responded, his voice harsh.

  The soldier walked very close to the man, until their noses were almost touching. In a loud voice he repeated his original question.

  The youngest boy grabbed his father’s leg and gave a small whimper. The man stepped back and bowed his head in the soldier’s direction. He mumbled “Sorry” and some other words I didn’t catch.

  As the soldiers continued to question each and every person, I saw a bus on the horizon. In my mind I chanted, “Leave, leave, leave.” The soldier walked slowly around the group of people, pausing to watch the approaching bus as it got closer and began to slow down. I pulled myself farther back into the trees. Could I wait for the next bus? Should I run and try to find another way into town?

  I let out breath as the jeep’s driver waved to the other soldier and he climbed back into the car. The bus pulled into the cloud of dust left by the speeding jeep.

  I took a step forward as the people at the stop were getting on the bus, the father and his boys first. A mother with a baby on her hip gathered her belongings and joined the end of the line.

  My thoughts tumbled and tripped over each other. If I got on the bus now, would someone notice and report me? If I waited for the next bus, would they search that one, too? But if I took the next bus, I was pretty sure the Red Crescent office would be closed.

  As the mother stepped onto the bus, I stopped thinking and ran to join the line, watching carefully how much the woman paid. I paid the same.

  The driver didn’t look twice at me. Nor did the other passengers as they settled their belongings for the long ride ahead. The baby, now on his mother’s shoulder, dropped a little red truck. Instinctively I stooped to pick it up. The mother, hearing the toy drop, turned. Seeing me with the truck in my hand, she started chastising the young boy, then stopped in midsentence and looked straight into my face. In that second a dam broke somewhere in my body, sending adrenaline rushing through my veins. She knew something was different about me. I was sure of it. I forced myself not to look away. I returned her stare with as much of a smile as I could muster.

  We reached an empty row. I slid in next to the window. I hunched as close to the glass as possible and fixed my gaze on the desert outside, feeling the woman and her child settling themselves in the seat across the aisle. After the bus started moving, I turned my head an inch to glance at them. The mother was rocking her child and staring in my direction.

  She knows, I screamed at myself, the words reverberating around my head. How could I have been so dense as to pick up that stupid truck? I willed myself not to look back but just to relax. As I forced the fear from my body, I heard Ebi’s voice. It was a young, bold Ebi, from the days when we stole figs in the marketplace. Act like you belong, Maggot. Just act like you belong.

  At each stop, people got off and more people got on. The child fell asleep on the woman’s lap. She stared out the window. Was she going to report me? Should I get off and try to catch another bus?

  As I reached to take out the map Majid had given me, the bus swerved and slowed to a stop. People sat up, peering out the windows, asking questions. The doors of the bus opened and a soldier entered, a machine gun slung over his shoulder.

  The flood of fear that had started to recede rushed back into every cell. Should I pretend to be asleep or pretend to be interested? If Ebi were here, we would be straining in our seats, watching every move. I tried to put on that face—the face I would wear if Ebi and I were together.

  The man walked down the aisle, stopping at every row, looking at every face. He reached my row. His eyes settled on me.

  He spoke in a gruff voice. I caught “travel” and “alone.”

  I thought of my accent, struggling to find enough words for a lie. But before I opened my mouth, the woman across the aisle spoke up.

  “My son,” were the only words I understood, but the woman motioned to me to sit next to her and held the baby out for me to hold.

  I hoped my face didn’t give away my surprise. The soldier watched as I climbed over and took the sleeping child. The soldier moved on to the next row. A moment later he walked back down the aisle and left.

  I sat motionless. Holding the child felt awkward at first, but after a few moments the baby shifted in his sleep, burrowing his downy dark hair into the crook of my arm.

  I waited until the bus was under way again. Then I whispered in Arabic, “Thank you.”

  The woman reached into a bag on the floor and switched to Farsi. “I told him you were my son. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m all right,” I said, but the smell of fresh bread made my mouth water.

  “Soldiers should have better things to do with their time than chase young boys.” She handed me a hunk of soft, fresh bread with some meat stuffed in it and said, “Take this. It might be a while before you get food again. You were smart to ditch that awful yellow canvas uniform.”

  I stared at her. She smiled.

  “I work in Camp Four. In the laundry. I wash and fold those terrible things.”

  I thought I’d just take a bite of the sandwich, but as soon as the food was in my mouth, I couldn’t stop. It was the best thing I’d tasted in a year and a half. I ate the whole thing without taking a breath.

  The woman laughed quietly and then whispered, “Better than onions and rice, yes? Where are you going?”

  “To the Red Crescent office in the Karrada neighborhood.”

  “Get off with me. My stop is nearby. It won’t take you long to walk.”

  I bowed my head and said quietly, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She nodded and took the baby, who was starting to stir. “Less talking now. You don’t exactly sound like my son will when he’s your age.”

  I nodded back.

  Later on, the landscape began to change. After the beige of the camps, I felt my brain flood with the colors of people’s clothes, the small towns, then factories and warehouses piling on top of one another as we got closer to the city. I watched as the woman pointed out the window. The little boy, now awake, squealed and mimicked his mother. Soon we were in the city, with its large office and apartment buildings.

  The woman leaned into me. “Our stop is next. Did you have a bag, too, or just the musical instrument?”

  “Just the tar,” I said. “I’ll carry this bag for you.” I picked up a small suitcase from under the seat.

  I followed the woman off the bus. She put her bags down and began to readjust the baby in a sling on her hip.

  I looked at the three bags at her feet. “Can I help you with this stuff?”

  “No. Get on your way so you reach Karrada before dark. Offices usually close by five thirty.”

  I faced the direction the bus had gone. For a moment I wished I could climb into the sling with the little baby. It would be so easy to pretend this kind woman was my mother. Then I felt the weight of the tar in my hand and remembered Miles’s applause when we’d played for the major.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, making my voice deeper. “I should get going.”

  “Walk along this road, keeping the river to your left. You’ll reach Karrada in about fifteen minutes. You’ll have to ask when you get there. I don’t know exactly where the office is, but watch who you ask. They probably aren’t looking for you here, but there won’t be many with your accent.”

  She smiled at me. I smiled back. I nodded and walked quickly in the direction she’d pointed. I wiped my eyes, amazed that my tears were so close to the surface, waiting to b
lur my vision at the slightest reminder of a family who could love me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  By the end of the block, I began to take in the bustle around me. I’d thought I was used to Arabic from hearing it in the camp, but the language all around me seemed fast and garbled. The street was full of cars, and people darted past me on the sidewalk. I straightened my shoulders and crossed the street. I wanted to see the river, to walk by the river.

  It was odd having a possession again. Strange to feel the world around me, the world outside the dusty camp yard. Now that I was in Baghdad, I could walk as far as I could see without anyone stopping me. But the sight of the sun low in the sky brought me back to the moment. For the hundredth time, I wondered if Miles was gone already.

  I picked up my pace, following the river. The map was no help. So many streets weren’t listed. Without a watch I had to guess what time it was. Just as panic took hold of me, I noticed that the river had widened. Majid said I would find the Red Crescent office in the neighborhood where the river formed a peninsula of land. The water was slow moving, almost still. Upstream I thought I saw what could be a jut of land sticking into the river. I kept walking. The sun was disappearing behind buildings, and more and more people streamed out of offices on their way home.

  At every street sign, I looked down at the map, trying to figure out where I was. I moved forward. It was almost like swimming in a sea of people.

  I stopped suddenly, hearing two men speaking Farsi behind me.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said to one of them. “I’m looking for the office of the Red Crescent.”

  A look of surprise passed over the man’s face, but he said, “I know it’s near here, but I’m not sure where.”

  I murmured a thank-you and scanned the crowd for someone else who might speak my language. The man grabbed my sleeve.

  “Wait, young man.” He’d turned to the man next to him. “Izadi, this young man is looking for the Red Crescent office. It’s near here, yes?”