Internment

by Samira Ahmed

  I quickly tell them what happened yesterday—seeing David, almost getting caught, what the Director said. Ayesha wraps an arm around me.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Soheil asks.

  “Yeah, Jake was with me.”

  Soheil raises an eyebrow. “I know you said you trust him—”

  “I did. And that hasn’t changed.” I’ve doubted, too, but I don’t share that with them. I pick up my trowel and start digging again and gesture for Ayesha and Soheil to do the same.

  “I trust you,” Ayesha says to me, and then turns to Soheil, handing him a seed packet. “You should, too.”

  Soheil takes a breath and faces me. “I do trust you, Layla. But I don’t trust his motives. Watch your back, is all. He could still turn you in at any time. He’s a guard. His job is to keep you imprisoned here. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t. And I’m not forgetting that people could get hurt or disappeared, and that’s why I’m worried about doing the fast. Maybe it’s too small. We’ll all get taken away or tased, and then it will be over. That’s a temper tantrum, not a revolution. And we need to organize better and steel ourselves for the days ahead. Whatever we do will be dangerous, and we can’t be naïve. Naïveté comes at too high a cost.”

  “What was that quote from the girl from the White Rose?” Ayesha asks. She takes my hand in hers and squeezes. “‘Someone has to make a start’? I’m as scared as anyone else. I’m not a brave person. But I know we need to act before things get worse. This fast—maybe it’s small, but it’s how we start.”

  Soheil moves so he’s facing both of us but looks directly into Ayesha’s eyes. “You’re brave,” he whispers. She gives him a soft smile. “And you’re right, Layla. We do still have to do this. Now more than ever. Don’t lose faith. Don’t let complacency creep in. We’re all scared. Courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s doing the right thing in spite of it.”

  Hearing their words, looking at my friends, I know they’re right. It’s so hard to act when you also feel terrified all the time. That’s what the Director is counting on—terror seeks silence, not screams.

  Ayesha nudges Soheil. “Dig, or they’ll think you’re conspiring. Or worse, flirting.”

  I grin and look down, feigning interest in my trowel. From the corner of my eye, I notice Soheil smile at Ayesha.

  The hum of a drone snares everyone’s attention. Before it’s on top of us, Soheil quickly murmurs, “Friday. Dinner fast. Everyone here is in. This is happening.”

  The red metal of the drone glints in the blazing sun; I shield my eyes from the light and stare at the mechanical spy as if it has eyes. I grit my teeth and quash an impulse to throw a trowel at it. Jake catches my eye and gives me an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I’m not sure how he knows what I’m thinking. I mouth an okay and get back to work.

  We toil away for a couple hours in the heat, sweating and even finding moments to laugh. It’s hard work, but I lose myself in the simple rhythm of digging a hole and planting a seed on repeat. As noon approaches, the group begins to break up, seeking shade and food. Ayesha waves to me as she walks toward Soheil’s block for lunch. She asked me to join them, but I give them their semblance of privacy.

  I dump my tools with the others and then refill my water bottle and take a long gulp. The dirt on my hands turns to mud as condensation appears almost instantly on the plastic. I wipe one hand, then the other, on a small patch of my jeans that’s not already dusty.

  “My mom loved gardening.” Jake’s voice comes from behind me. As he approaches me, I refill my bottle.

  “Loved? She doesn’t any longer?”

  “She died when I was twelve.” Jake kicks at the earth with the back of his heel. “In summer I always remember her with dirt under her nails and on her jeans. She had a pair she only wore for gardening. I swear the knees were made of mud patches.” A melancholy smile spreads across his face.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  He shrugs. “It’s been a while. My brother was a lot older, already out of the house. And my dad and I, we made out okay.” Jake’s not looking at me while he talks. He’s focusing on the mountains in the distance. It’s the same look he had in his eyes when the Director stopped us yesterday. Focused, but not on what’s in front of him. I’m also keenly aware that this is the first time he’s ever really talked about his life outside of being a guard, and the first time that I’ve ever really considered that he has one.

  “That must’ve been hard,” I say.

  “My dad’s a military guy, too. Army. Ran the house like clockwork. A rule for everything. I think that’s kind of what saved me. The structure. In the military, everyone doing their job, the organization of it, that’s what keeps you safe. That’s how my dad showed his love, I think. By protecting us. He wasn’t big on words or feelings. That was my mom’s job. But she wasn’t a softy, either.” Jake chuckles a little to himself. He doesn’t say it, but the pained look in his eyes makes it clear he misses her.

  “It’s never easy to lose what you love. No matter how much order you have in your life.” My voice cracks a little when I say this, and it surprises me.

  Jake finally turns to look at me, wearing that same sad smile, but a part of him is still focusing on something in the distance.

  I’m lying on my bed. My parents are still at “work.” I’ll meet them in the Mess for dinner. Normally I use up my shower minutes at night, right before bed, but my body is coated with the salt from my dried sweat, and a dull ache has settled into my bones, and I want to rinse it all away. I close my eyes for a moment and imagine my deliciously soft bed and the worn kantha quilt. That bed, that home, feels like another lifetime. Like I was a different person, and now I have these memories of a life that is not my own.

  There’s a knock on our door. Ayesha said she’d stop by to give me the most-likely-chaste details about her lunch with Soheil. I whip off my towel turban and let the wet strands of my hair fall down my back and hurry to the door.

  Pulling it open, I say, “So how’s Soh—”

  It’s not Ayesha.

  It’s Jake. “Let me in, quick,” he says, then pulls his lips together in a sort of grimace.

  I freeze for a moment. Unsure what this means. Why he’s here. I feel the dampness of my hair soak through the back of my T-shirt, making me shiver. I look up and down the block. No one is around. I step aside, allowing him in. Hoping, praying, this is the right decision.

  We stand in the common area of my trailer. I dig my hands into my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels, waiting for Jake to say something. Jake steps toward me and smiles a huge fake grin and puts his hand on my shoulder. I flinch. He looks me in the eye and nods at me ever so slightly. He doesn’t say a word, but he gestures to my bedroom and begins walking back there. When I don’t move, he motions for me to follow. This is a huge leap of faith, and I hope it’s not into the abyss.

  I suck in my breath and enter my room. Soheil’s words of warning float in the air around me: Don’t trust anyone. But I do trust my instincts; I pray those instincts are right. Jake shuts the door behind us.

  “Now what?” I say a little too loudly.

  Jake puts a finger to his lips and steps closer to me. “There’s no camera in here, but keep your voice down anyway. Sorry to be mysterious, but the bedrooms are the only places the drones and cameras can’t get to.”

  “But they saw you on the camera in the common room coming into my bedroom. Isn’t that suspicious?”

  “A guard going into a woman’s bedroom—let’s say it’s probably happening, and the Director doesn’t care.”

  “Gross. That’s. Just. Wrong. It’s a guard and a prisoner. A prisoner can’t consent. It’s—”

  “It’s coercion. It’s rape. I don’t know of any guards personally, but there is talk.”

  “Jake, you can’t let it. You have to—”

  “I know. And if I see something happening, I will stop it. I swear. Now, listen. What are you plan
ning? Out there at the garden with everyone else?”

  “Nothing,” I say flatly. Clearly, he knows something, but I’m not sure I should tell him anything. Not even sure it’s my right. It involves too many other people.

  “I understand why you’re suspicious. It’s smart. It’s survival.” Jake makes a quick, precise exhale. And another one. Almost like he’s counting them in his head. He pulls off his cap and runs his hands through his short dirty-blond hair, damp with sweat. “Look, the Director—he’s talking about bringing more guards in here. He feels the rumblings in the camp, an air of dissent. He’s vindictive and petty, but he’s not stupid. Remember that young Arab American woman they dragged away—”

  My muscles go taut; I clench my hands into fists. “Noor. She has a name.”

  Jake nods. “Sorry, yes. Noor. You know how she wore an American flag hijab?”

  I nod.

  “Apparently, it got torn off somewhere in the struggle, and it showed up this morning on the door of the admin building. Ripped, stained with blood. And scrawled across it in black marker was the word ‘Resist.’”

  A strange kind of elation bubbles inside me. I don’t know what happened to Noor or the other women. I’m afraid to even think about it. But Ayesha, Soheil, me—we’re not alone. No, it’s not joy that’s welling inside me. It’s hope. “Who? How? His security detail and the guards are everywhere by the admin building and the Hub.”

  Jake continues. “I know. Should not have been possible. He knows that, too. A part of him fears it could be a guard.”

  My jaw drops. “Holy shit.”

  Jake continues. “The Director went ballistic. And it’s like he warned you: He wants more eyes, everywhere. He trusts me for now, and—”

  “He trusts you? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Yes. It should. Look, it took me a long time to get to this. Too long. It’s what I was saying before. I grew up military. Orders were sacrosanct in my house. But I received counterorders, too. Being in here. Meeting you and the others. I finally understood the real mission, my sworn duty to protect this country from enemies foreign and domestic.”

  I don’t quite get what he’s trying to say, and he can read the quizzical look on my face.

  “Layla, I’m an Exclusion Guard, but that’s not all. I’ve already said more than I should, put you at risk—”

  “What does that mean? And why, why are you going along—” I’m bursting with questions and confusion, and my head feels woozy.

  Jake takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. “I’m sorry,” he says in a gentle, low voice that catches me off guard. “I hate going along with it, but I have to for now. And I’m sorry if anything I’ve done or may do hurts you. The Director has to trust me; that’s why he’s having me keep an eagle eye on you. He thinks I have your confidence, and that I’ll inform him of anything suspicious. I have to play along for now. It’s the only way I can keep you safe.” His voice quiets to a whisper, and he gently wraps his fingers around my upper arm. I look down at his hands. Then he quickly pulls them away. I’m startled, but not afraid.

  “I’m worried for me, too. For all of us. Most days there isn’t a moment I’m not scared, but there’s a fire burning all around me, and I can’t stand by and do nothing, and you should understand that. And isn’t what you’re doing putting you in danger?”

  “I’m doing my duty, Layla. My sworn duty.”

  “Well, I’m doing mine, too.” My voice is a squeak, and it makes me cringe.

  Jake’s eyes soften. “I need you to understand. The Director? What he said to you the other day? He won’t be trifled with. He will hurt you, and I might not be able to stop him. And I can’t—”

  Tears well in my eyes. “I know the Director can do things to us without anyone paying attention or caring, but if we don’t do something now, if we stay silent, what’s next? If we’re going to be disappeared anyway, we can’t go down without a fight.” When I hear the words in my mind, they sound brave, but coming out of my mouth they are weighted down by fear.

  Jake rubs his forehead. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Remember, you’re not alone. There are dustups on the outside. Protests at the White House. People are talking. The Director is keeping that from you, from everyone, but it’s not silent out there. It’s loud, and getting louder.”

  I muster a small smile. “All the more reason for us to rise up on the inside.” My voice breaks a little, and a tear trails down my cheek. “I’m terrified,” I whisper, and then clear my throat. I feel like I’m confessing something I shouldn’t. But I don’t know how to act strong, be strong all the time, when I’m mostly scared and alone and lonely. I look up at Jake, into his kind, warm eyes.

  He hesitates. Reaches his arms out slightly. Then I hug him. And he wraps his arms around me. And they feel safe. A part of me knows this isn’t right, but for this tiny moment I need human comfort, and Jake’s arms give me that. I want to draw from his strength to bolster my own as it wavers in fear of what the future holds.

  But this also feels wrong. I open my eyes and push back against Jake, almost tripping over my shoes.

  He steps back, and a look of dismay crosses his face. “Layla, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  I shake my head, and words spill from my lips. “It’s this place. I feel so alone. I miss David so much. It’s like I’m in a crypt and the door is slowly being sealed shut. And I can’t hold it open. And no one can hear me screaming.”

  I look at him and see a guy a few years older than me. Someone who, in a different world, would be walking across the same college campus, who might help me find my way the first week of freshman year, the handsome senior who’s the RA in my dorm. A friend. A confidant. But that world doesn’t exist. He’s a guard in my internment camp. That’s reality. It is my present, and I’m trying desperately to make sure it isn’t my future.

  “You’re not alone, Layla. I’ll do everything I can to protect you. The Director believes me. He asked me to report on your activities, so I’ll be close by—as much as I possibly can.”

  I mouth a silent thank-you. “I believe you. And we’re planning—”

  “Stop. I know I asked, but don’t tell me. If I don’t know, they can’t get it out of me, no matter what.”

  “Plausible deniability?” I ask. “That sounds so spy movie.” I manage a small smile, but I realize what he really means.

  If you don’t know the truth, they can’t torture it out of you.

  “Layla, do you want to walk with us toward the Hub?” my mom calls from outside my bedroom door. The burner David gave me clatters to the floor. Shit. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine! Dropped my hairbrush. I’ll walk over with you guys. Gimme a second,” I yell while grabbing the phone and tucking it between my mattress and the wall. I still haven’t told Jake about it, and mostly I’ve been too scared to use it, and I can’t have the sound on, ever. I’m trying to save the precious minutes for emergencies. Honestly, though, life in here is one giant emergency. Calling feels too risky, but I’ve texted David and plan to meet him again. Today.

  I check my front pocket for the hundredth time this morning. My next article, safely tucked inside. My green-and-purple Wimbledon shirt hangs over the waist of my jeans. When I walk out of my room, my parents are sitting at the table, finishing their tea. The small table abuts the wall of the trailer and sits beneath a window. This morning, the dust on the window filters the light as it beams in, bathing their daily routine in a kind of soft glow. Every time I step out in the morning and see them, they seem to have aged overnight, like sleep is actually draining life from them instead of recharging their batteries. I suppose that maybe they’re not sleeping at all. But right now, in this light, I’m reminded of an old photo in a small oxidized-silver frame that sits on my mom’s dresser. It’s them, but much younger, before I was born. Sometime when they first met. My mom says a friend took it when they were visiting Paris.
They’re in a café, sitting at a small, round green table, next to a plate-glass window. Mom’s red-lacquered fingernails pop against the cream-colored coffee cup in her hands. My dad’s curly hair flops over one of his eyes. And he’s looking at her while she looks out the window, soft light falling on her face. Suddenly I realize how beautiful and perfect that photo is. A lump forms in my throat.

  I walk over and kiss each of them on the cheek. My mom smiles at me, and my dad takes my hand. “I have something for you,” he says, then hands over a paperback, its edges frayed and bent.

  “Persuasion?” I say.

  My dad nods. “The selection in the Hub library is not extensive, but there are some quality older titles in there. I think you’ll really like this story. And don’t you think it’s time you got back to your regular studies?”

  I knit my eyebrows at my dad. My studies. Yes, that is the main thing I’m worried about in here, making sure I can pass the GED. They’re running a makeshift school for the younger kids, but as of yet there is no Mobius High giving out diplomas. I am about to say something sarcastic, but I stop myself. “Thanks, Dad. I loved Pride and Prejudice. I’m sure I’ll love this, too.”

  “It’s about a young woman, Anne Elliot, who is very modern in her own way. It’s about characters not merely finding themselves but remaining true to who they are. In some ways, at the time, it was considered quite subversive,” my dad says, holding eye contact with me. Then he quickly adds, “Of course, that was a very long time ago, and now you can simply enjoy it, and then I’ll have you write an essay on it.”

  He hesitated to say that word, “subversive.” Changed his tune. The cameras, the eyes on us all the time, make us all masters of hiding the truth but force us to find creative ways to communicate with one another, too. More lies we tell to live. “Thanks, Dad. Can’t wait to write an essay on it,” I say, my tone perhaps a little too chipper.

  We head out the door together. My fingers shake. I’m hyperaware of the note in my pocket and the queasy feeling in my stomach because of what I’m concealing now from my parents, from Ayesha, from Jake. It’s better for them not to know. Plausible deniability. Isn’t that what Jake and I agreed to?