by Sarah Fine
Melik recaptures my hand and holds it firmly. “How old did you say you were when all this happened?” There is a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Does it matter? My people did this to yours.”
His thumb traces a circle on my palm. “There are millions of Itanyai. Maybe if more of them were like you or your father, none of it would have happened.”
“I think my father admires you,” I say. “He believes you are educated, and that is what he values.”
“My father taught me your language,” he explains. “I worked in the fields like the rest, but after he was gone, I also translated when anyone needed medical care or government permits, things like that.”
“That’s why the men look up to you.”
He smiles. “That, and I’m taller than most of them.”
That’s not why they look up to him. Melik is not loud about his power; in fact, he is quite quiet about it. But it vibrates from him; it’s like electricity, like sound. He can’t hide it for too long, because those around him feel it against their skin.
“Why were you willing to come here?” I ask. “Didn’t you know it would be just as bad, and maybe worse?”
“I don’t suppose you have heard about the drought.”
“I heard about how the rains aren’t coming.” It’s why the price of vegetables has doubled in the past year, why there are rumors of food shortages in the bigger cities. I am ashamed that I never considered what it might mean for the farmers.
Melik’s finger strokes over my thumb. “I couldn’t let my mother starve. I promised my father I would take care of her. I was willing to do almost anything, but Sinan ended up making the decision for us.”
We both laugh, because Sinan is a force unto himself. “Is he as young as I think he is?”
Melik’s smile is as warm as sunlight as he thinks of his brother. “Yes, he’s only thirteen, if you can believe it. I have no idea how he got that work pass and signed up for this job, but when he did, I had no choice. He’d signed a contract, and I couldn’t let him come here alone. And the rest of the men, they followed me, drawn by promises of money enough for our families to keep their bellies full.” His smile fades quickly. “Now we are stuck here.”
I squeeze his hand. “Does Sinan feel guilty? Do the others give him a hard time?”
He shakes his head. “No, Sinan still believes we can make money here. He’s only a boy, and the others feel protective of him. And many are as hopeful as he is.”
I bite my lip. Sinan could not have known what he was doing to all of them, but Melik does, especially now. He has to have figured out that Mugo will never let them earn enough to send money home. “You should leave,” I say, even though my chest feels hollow at the thought.
“I don’t think so.” Melik’s voice is hard. “We will not leave until we are paid what we’re owed.”
I drag my eyes away from our tangled hands. “What are you talking about?”
He meets my gaze for a moment and then looks away. “I don’t know why I said that. You’ve already paid so many of our debts.” He pulls his hand from mine and lifts the bottle, staring at the pale green liquid inside. “And now you’ve paid for this as well. Should I ask how much it cost you?”
I take it from him and reach into my satchel for the dosing cup. “No. But I can tell you how you’ll pay me back.”
“Oh?” His eyes spark with mischief. “I hope you’ll be creative.”
My mouth drops open at his forwardness, but what comes from it is a laugh instead of a reprimand. I pour the medicine into the little cup and hand it to him. He does not take his eyes from my face as he drinks it down, grimacing at its sick-sweet taste. The apothecary adds way too much sugar to cover up the bitterness.
“I don’t want you to think about debt and owing,” I say. “This is from me to you.”
He lowers the cup from his mouth. A tiny bit of medicine clings to the stubble above his upper lip. “A gift,” he says.
“A gift,” I agree, and reach forward to wipe his lip before I think about it. He catches my hand as soon as my thumb brushes his skin. He gives it the lightest of tugs, but I move like I’m water, like I’m light as air. My hand slides over his uninjured shoulder, and he reaches for me as I rise to my knees. His hands on my waist are a shock, overwhelming, tender and powerful and addictive.
We are nearly nose to nose. His breath smells like antibiotics, sweet and bitter. I’m lost in the jade of his eyes. My heart is beating like the wings of a hummingbird.
There’s a moment of stillness between us. We’re standing on this threshold, about to step over, and . . . he’s waiting for me. His look is expectation, hope, and a glint of nervousness. I have a choice to make. Do I believe that he didn’t pay another woman for his pleasure? Do I forgive him? Do I want to share him? Is he worth having?
He senses my hesitation, I think. He takes my face in his hands. “Wen, don’t do this unless you believe me. Don’t betray yourself like that.”
“I know what I saw.”
“Did you see me with a woman?”
I shake my head. My cheeks are flaming beneath his palms.
“Because I wouldn’t touch anyone else. I don’t want to since I met you.” He releases me and I sit back. I am amazed by him; he speaks the wishes of his heart so plainly, without any embarrassment at all. He is saying he wants me, but that feels like so much. I’ve never even kissed a boy, and he seems like a man, like someone who understands the world.
He watches me carefully. “It doesn’t matter whether you feel the same way or not, but I think you do.”
“I believe you,” I say, because the alternative, that he is lying, doesn’t seem possible to me. Not as I’m looking into his eyes and seeing myself reflected there. “But I’ve never—I’m just . . .” I raise my arms and let them fall. I don’t know how to do any of this.
He catches one of my hands on the way down and laces his fingers with mine again. “Is this okay?”
I nod. I don’t know how he knows what I need.
A muted explosion outside startles both of us. Melik looks toward the tiny window, which has been closed against the coming night chill. Purple and yellow blossoms bloom on the glass. “The fireworks,” I murmur. “They’re starting.”
I settle in next to him, much closer than is proper, but I don’t care. We’re facing the window, and he’s holding my hand so tightly that no one could tear me from his side. In this cool, dank room I’m warm because he is near. I put my head on his good shoulder. When I glance over, his eyes are on the lights, and there’s a smile on his face, and this is the most perfect moment I have ever experienced.
“Melik?”
I jerk at the sound of my father’s voice and scramble back from Melik like he’s tried to bite me. I smooth my hair and pick up the bottle and the dosing cup. Melik must grasp my situation, because he closes his eyes and slumps down, looking much more sick and weak than he actually is.
My father turns the corner a second later and freezes as he takes in the tableau in front of him, me holding the medicine in my shaking hands, and Melik looking like he needs a lot more than antibiotics if he’s going to live through the night.
“Wen. I thought you’d be out,” my father says. He smells of the road, of two days’ hard walking. He must have heard about the accident and come straight here without even washing up. “How bad is he?”
The tightness in my chest loosens a bit. If my father’s going to give me a hard time about being alone in this room with Melik, he’s decided to do it in private, and I’m eternally grateful for that. “He hit his head pretty hard, but he’s been responsive and talking today.”
My father kneels next to Melik, who greets him groggily. Then Father turns to me. “I’m going to take a look at him. Go ahead, Wen. Have your fun tonight.”
He smiles at me, but this is a dism
issal. He probably wants Melik to take his shirt off so he can take a good look at the entire injury. As he peels back Melik’s bandage, I stand up, gathering my bag and straightening my skirt. I don’t look at Melik as I turn to the door. I’m afraid my face will give me away again.
“Wen? One more thing.”
I freeze, my hand on the doorjamb. “Yes?”
“You did an excellent job with the sutures. He’ll barely have a scar.”
“Thank you.” I walk down the hall slowly, straining to hear what my father is saying to Melik, but I give up quickly because the fireworks are so loud. I burst into the open air, sucking in a lungful of smoky First Holiday smells, letting the chill cool my heated skin. Something inside me has shifted, and now part of me is not my own. It’s Melik’s. And part of him belongs to me. Maybe. Sort of. I think. I don’t want to consider all the reasons nothing should happen between us. All I want to do is let it be.
I make my way down the path as the fireworks whistle over my head, high above the town. And I can’t help it, I think of Bo, how much he loves them, how he goes up to the . . . my eyes drift to the roof of the factory, to a spot next to the smokestacks.
My breath catches in my throat. There, at the edge of the roof, I swear I see a silhouette, flashing black and yellow and red as the fireworks boom. He shimmers beneath the lights, glints like metal, and I rub my eyes and look again, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. He’s so distant, but I can just make him out, slightly off kilter, one arm longer than the other.
I stand in place for a long time, held there by my curiosity, until the fireworks grow dim and all that lights the sky is the harvest moon, fat and orange and eerie. The shadowy man is still there too, and I shiver because I’ve just realized something. All this time I’ve been watching him, his face hasn’t been turned up to the sky. He hasn’t been watching the fireworks.
He’s been watching me.
I SLEEP HARD and dream of Melik’s hands around my waist and Bo’s silhouette stark against the night sky. The morning shift whistle sends me scrambling because I remember I have to finish cleaning the wreck of Mugo’s office. He’ll be angry if I don’t finish today.
My father had a good trip to Kanong; we’re all stocked up with black-market supplies, and he’s in an excellent mood as he makes our tea, whistling a strain from a song my mother used to sing. He says Melik should recover completely and he couldn’t have done a better job treating him himself. He says maybe I should go to medical school, maybe we should try to save enough to pay for the tuition. I can’t bear to tell him that there is only one more dress hanging in that closet in the cottage, and as fine as it is, it won’t pay for more than a few weeks’ supply of medicine. And also, I’ve seen his balance sheet in Mugo’s office—my tuition would be less costly than what he already owes this company. I will not be going to medical school. Ever.
I wear my memories of last night like armor as I arrive at work. The way Melik looked at me, how I think we were going to kiss but Melik didn’t push. How he held my hand and it was perfect. It’s First Holiday today, and the killing floor closes at noon. It will be the same on Second and Third Holiday, the only times during the feasting season that the floor falls silent. I’m off at noon too, and wondering if it would be too improper for me to go over to the Noor dorms to check on Melik. Maybe he’ll feel well enough to take a walk with me.
Because I am stupidly hopeful, I wear my rose-colored wool dress, warm but pretty, with entwining night-blooming roses and thorns along the hem. I weave a matching ribbon through my braid.
And as soon as Mugo arrives at the office, I regret my choice and wish for my brown work dress. He grins and shows his chipped front tooth. He watches as I crawl across his floor, sweeping up dust and metal shavings, picking up files and papers that crashed to the floor when the shelves collapsed yesterday. I ignore him and think of other things, like the sun and the sea and Melik’s smile.
Just before noon I am at my little desk, behind the enormous, tame typewriter that now does my bidding. Mugo comes out of his office and stands there with that oily grin on his face, like he’s waiting for something.
Then the knock comes and Melik walks in, and if I didn’t know how hurt he was, I’d never be able to guess, because he stands straight as ever. He doesn’t spare me a glance as he greets Mugo. “You asked to see me, Underboss?”
“Ah. Melik. Yes, I wanted to talk to you about your absence from work. Your station was left unattended for two nights in a row.” Mugo is right behind my chair now, and I sit a little straighter to put some space between us. I wonder if I’m imagining it when I see Melik stiffen.
“I was injured, sir, as you know. I unjammed the meat hooks, but the machinery began to run before I got down.” Melik’s voice is so calm, so level. But every inch of him is vibrating with tension.
Mugo’s hand slips over my shoulder and takes hold of my braid. He slips his finger along the ribbon I weaved through it this morning. Not for him. Not for his fingers or his eyes. I want to jerk myself away, but I won’t. I can’t. I think of my father and his debt. Mugo could turn us both out into the Ring, penniless, in the middle of winter. He could strap Melik with fines so big he’ll never be able to pay them back. I’ve seen what Mugo can do, the lives he can ruin. I’ve seen Jima, pregnant and sick and abandoned. She’s right; I could be just like her. I sit very, very still.
“It was reported to me that you were loitering in your dorm, unchaperoned, with this young woman.” Mugo gives my braid a little tug.
Melik clears his throat. “I was receiving medical care. Dr. Guiren can confirm this.”
Mugo releases my braid. His mushroomy fingers are on my neck, and then—oh, I want to die—they are on the front of me, stroking down, only a few inches above the neckline of my dress. This is no way to touch a girl. This is private. This is sacred and intimate. I lean back to escape, but I only succeed in trapping myself against his weaselly, damp body. Melik’s fists clench. Mugo flattens his palm over my collarbone. The threat is unmistakable. Tears of shame sting my eyes. If this were only about me, I would slap him in the face and storm away, but it’s not. So I sit here and allow this disgusting man to fondle me, hating him, hating myself.
“Let me tell you something about Itanyai girls,” says Mugo, and there is eagerness in his voice right alongside the menace. “They aren’t at all like your Noor sluts, so free with themselves. When you are alone with an Itanyai girl, it has an effect on her reputation. People talk.”
“I will remember that in the future, sir,” says Melik, deadly quiet. His gaze is riveted to Mugo’s hand. His cheeks are flushing a ruddy, angry red. He takes a step back. I don’t know whether he’s trying to help me or maybe just trying to escape.
Mugo isn’t finished, though. “Once you ruin a girl’s reputation, the other boys will assume she is fair game. They will assume she doesn’t mind if they touch her, if they try to get her alone.” I know Mugo can feel the frantic beat of my heart against his hand. He likes how badly he is frightening me. He likes this power, that he can humiliate Melik, the Noor who does not know his place. I can feel how much he likes it, because his hips are pressed against my shoulder blade.
I realize the terrible mistake I have made. I should have gone out with my pretend friends for First Holiday. I should have left Melik alone and safe. I should have given Sinan the medicine to take to him, should have asked my father to check in on him. But in making a spectacle of myself, in making enemies of Iyzu and Lati, in announcing that I was giving up the celebration of First Holiday so I could care for a Noor, I have also gotten Melik in trouble. And that is the last thing he needs.
Mugo’s hand slips lower, and his fingers skim the neckline on the front of my dress. I can’t take it anymore. I try to squirm away, but Mugo’s other hand clamps down painfully on my shoulder, holding me in place.
“Stop,” whispers Melik, and I hate the pleadi
ng sound of it. This is exactly what Mugo wants.
“But haven’t you already claimed this, Noor?” Mugo asks silkily as his fingers curl over my skin, as—
The explosion is deafening. I feel it inside my head, in my chest and belly. The lights go out and I am on the ground as dust billows and metal creaks and men scream and a wave of heat rolls over me. I am under my desk. My chair is overturned.
“Wen!” Melik sounds like he’s a million miles away, drowned out by the ringing in my ears.
Another explosion shatters the window outside the office, and somewhere in the darkness Mugo shrieks. Ceiling tiles rain down all around me, shattering on the desk over my head. The dust is in my mouth, my eyes. Strong hands wrap around my waist and pull me up, and I have this stupid thought that Melik is going to pull his stitches, and I open my mouth to tell him so, but I inhale a lungful of acrid smoke and start to cough. Melik shoves me out into the hall and stumbles after me, but I can’t see a thing, can’t figure out where I am, because everything is upside down and splintered and burning. My foot slips in something, and when I look down, all I see is lumps of charred meat. I don’t know if it came from cows or slaughterhouse workers.
I stagger toward a foggy ray of light, and behind me I hear someone, Melik, I think, rasping and whooping, trying to draw air amidst the dust and ash and blood and smoke. I am turning back to make sure he’s still walking when a hand wraps around my arm and jerks me into a dark passageway. I can’t stop coughing. My eyes are streaming. I am blind and deaf and dumb, and my lungs aren’t working. Black and white spots crowd my vision; roaring static fills my ears. I am buried under the earth, and the dirt is suffocating me. I am dead.
No, I’m not. Slowly, reason returns to me. I am being carried, maybe by a person, maybe on a gurney—all I know is it is uncomfortable and hard and unyielding. Creaking. Clanking. Warm and cold at the same time.