Red Leaves

by Sita Brahmachari

  ‘Zak, are you OK? I’ll bring you some sweet tea to settle your stomach. Your father will contact you any moment now.’ Zak stood up and closed his bedroom door against Shalini’s words of comfort. His computer buzzed. What was the point of talking to his dad if he couldn’t even be here at a time like this? What was the point of him even being his dad? Zak clicked ‘Decline’.

  They had all been here once before. Waiting, waiting, waiting. After the agony of when she went missing last time his dad had tried to make his mum promise not to go off again. But she had and now Zak was the only one left waiting for her. That was all he seemed to do. It was the thing he hated most, the not knowing, being tied to every form of bulletin every second of the day, checking for news feeds, listening out for reports of her, about her, by her, and making a recording of each one in case it was her last. The computer buzzed with a repeat of his dad’s Skype request. Zak grabbed his smartphone and smashed it hard into the screen of his laptop, cutting his knuckles in the process. He watched as dark red blood oozed from his skin. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap, letting the water run over it. ‘Blood is thicker than water.’ The saying kept repeating through his mind.

  What does that even mean?

  Sometime through the red terror of that long night Aisha’s Aunt Lalu came to her with a familiar lullaby that ebbed and flowed over her like a gentle stream.

  On waking, Aisha’s mind was still clogged with a muffled sleep-haze. For a split second she didn’t know where she lay or what fragment of her life she was caught up inside. Hiding in her village; being found by her abo and taken to Mogadishu; setting off for Kenya in the lorry; the thirst in her mouth, the hunger in her belly, crossing the road block and screaming for her abo to come back as the men on the road pushed a gun into his back and marched him away; her abo’s hand being replaced by a stranger’s. She remembered now being taken by the guide to Kenya and being put on the flight to Heathrow Airport; being interviewed; the bed at Monmouth House care home, the bed at Liliana’s. Aisha had faced so many new walls that for the first year on Linden Road she had kept her eyes closed on waking, trawling her mind until she was sure that when she opened them again she would be safely in Liliana’s room. Now she was back again in that twilight world of unknowing. She reached out and felt the cool earth beneath her fingers . . . and her mind tracked back to the wood that she had run into last night. Maybe she had dreamed up the beast that had sat next to her in the darkness? Aisha pushed the coat away from her face and felt the fresh morning air sting her skin. She turned her head to the side and slowly opened her eyes – to be met by those of an animal the colour of copper. She could smell its earthy breath on her face. It took a step towards her and she jumped back. It moaned and sat quietly down again. Not a fox, but a dog.

  Aisha picked up a stick and flailed her arms around, shouting at it to leave her alone, but instead it sat patiently by her side. She stood up slowly and the dog stood too. She shoved her sleeping bag in her rucksack and headed deeper into the wood, making hissing noises at the dog to leave her alone, but it only hung back for a moment and then followed her. Every time she paused the dog did too, keeping a respectful distance. She hardly dared look the animal in the eye. She had always been afraid of dogs, and she was definitely not alone among her friends. Muna was the only person she knew who loved them and never gave up trying to persuade her parents to get one.

  ‘The Quran says a dog is allowed if it’s your guardian, or looking after land. You said you sometimes don’t feel safe in the flat at night, Mum . . .’ Muna tried everything.

  ‘I don’t know about Aisha being the lawyer,’ Muna’s dad joked. ‘Perhaps you two will be starting a practice together!’

  If Muna was right this animal could have come to her as a kind of guardian, because, after all, it had sat by her side all night and kept her from harm. Aisha forced herself to look at it, taking a tentative step forward. The dog didn’t move, but cocked its head on one side and she thought she read a kind expression in its gaze. It was as if the dog understood how much courage it was taking for her to approach. For years Liliana had tried to get Aisha to face her fear of dogs, and she’d hardly managed to even stroke one. As Aisha tiptoed closer, the dog lay flat and still on the ground and raised its eyes up towards her. Cautiously she reached out and touched the animal’s head with her fingertips. Its coat was as soft as a wave of silk. Now the dog’s tail started to wag gently. Although the animal was quite tall it was slender and delicate-looking, not like those squat, thickset dogs that terrified her in the park. It kept its head on the ground and its eyes raised towards her, almost pleading with her to be its friend. It was a strange thing, fear. Here she was, alone in a wood, tentatively stroking this dog without anyone but the animal coaxing her. She supposed that it was a question of need.

  Above Aisha, the sky was lightening into a powdery-pink dawn. She checked her watch. Seven o’clock. The birds offered up a cheery morning call and Aisha could not believe how loud the wood had become, as if a parallel world existed here that she had been unaware of before. She walked on and the dog followed, keeping its distance a little way behind her.

  They came to a fenced-off section of woodland and Aisha stopped to read a sign:

  CONSERVATION ZONE. THIS AREA HAS BEEN CORDONED OFF FOR A TEN-YEAR PERIOD TO ALLOW FOR THE NATURAL REGENERATION OF THE FLORA AND FAUNA AND THE SPRING-WATER STREAM BED.

  The overhang of foliage, brambles and undergrowth were thicker in this area. If she was to hide here it would be less likely that anyone would find her. With some difficulty she climbed over the fence, the dog took the more direct path and wriggled under it. It’s determined to stay with me, thought Aisha as she carefully picked her way through a bramble thicket, following the dog as it sniffed its way further into the prohibited zone.

  Aisha came to a steep muddy slope that was hard to climb with her heavy rucksack threatening to unbalance her. At least the ground was dry. She took two steps sideways and then switched direction to avoid a face-plant. The dog ran headlong from the top of the slope to the bottom and waited for her to pick her way down, its tail wagging in expectation. Despite herself, Aisha smiled at the animal’s look of concern as it waited patiently for her. When she’d finally made it to the bottom, she’d found herself patting the dog’s head to reassure it! She rummaged in her rucksack for a biscuit. The dog quietly sniffed at her offering as she placed it on the ground. At the sight of the food Aisha’s own stomach complained loudly. If she was going to fast, as she’d promised that she would, then she had to get this hunger under control.

  She shrugged her rucksack higher on to her back, grabbed a stick and beat her way through the undergrowth. After a while she came to a place where the earth rose up again in a steep mound and she had to climb and scramble over the clinging ivy to reach the upper level. She stopped and listened for a moment to the sound of running water. She climbed up over a flat ledge and meandered between some younger trees until she found the source. The stream was deep and narrow and cut its path in a zigzag pattern. The steep banks were lined with ferns, and great mollusc-like toadstools grew from cracks in the bank. On the far side the woodland seemed to have a life all of its own. Aisha had the feeling that nothing had changed here for centuries. Above her the sound of an aeroplane cutting through the clouds startled her out of the wood’s cocoon. She watched as it made its way across the sky, lights flashing. Aisha could never look at a plane without wondering if there was someone else like her up there, flying into the unknown. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. If it wasn’t for the distant hum of traffic and intermittent sirens faintly crying in a faraway place, she could have really believed that she had crossed a border into a wilderness.

  A fallen tree lay over the stream, as if somebody had felled it to use as a crossing point. Aisha bent down and placed her hands in the flowing stream. If this was spring water as the sign said, when her bottles ran out she would be able to drink it. She leaned down, dipped her fin
gers in and tasted. It was slightly earthy and sweet. The stream was deep enough to immerse her body in, and the bank narrow enough for her to construct some kind of screen around herself to cleanse before praying. She had made her promise to fast and she would stick to it. Today she had missed rising at dawn, to pray and break her fast as she would have done if it really was Ramadan. I’ll have to wait to eat till the sun disappears from the sky. She was determined not to let her stomach dictate to her.

  Aisha washed her hands clean, then her face, nose and mouth. Then she bathed her feet, feeling the water gurgle between her toes. She took a jumper from her rucksack and dried herself. Why didn’t I think to bring a towel? Afterwards she carefully cleared an area of ground and placed her prayer mat on it, knelt down and began to pray. She had tried to explain to Liliana that praying made her feel stronger and closer to her abo, to her aunt, cousins and home. Here in the wood it was possible to believe that no time at all had passed from the day she’d left Somalia. Aisha opened her eyes, scanning up through the diffused light, and felt for a moment at perfect peace. It was broken by the vision of an ancient figure standing motionless on the other side of the stream.

  The old woman with the bright red hair was holding a stick and pointing to a leaf that appeared to be spinning on air. As it rotated faster and faster it caught the sunlight and turned to pure gold.

  For a moment Aisha was transfixed too. How could the leaf be flying around and around on the same spot, held by nothing, like a woodland spirit caught in a vortex?

  ‘Walk around the leaf-spirit, Elder, walk around, nature’s threads should never be broken.’ The old woman veered off to one side and ducked under the leaf. From here Aisha could see that it was hanging on a fine, gossamer thread that glistened in the sun.

  Now that she was no longer caught in the leaf-spell, Aisha realized that the woman was heading in her direction. She held her breath, her spine stiffened and she found herself crouching to avoid her eye line. She backed away from the stream on her haunches and she noticed that the dog’s ears pricked at the sight of the woman. Aisha couldn’t stop the animal as it trotted over the fallen log and crossed the stream. That must be a good sign, Aisha told herself, attempting to bring her breath back to something like normal. Aren’t dogs supposed to have an instinct for people? Surely if it had reason to be afraid, she would be barking or growling. Either way, Aisha couldn’t be sure, and she had no wish to talk to the woman, here in the middle of the wood on her own. ‘Over here!’ Aisha whispered to the dog, and it paused, sniffed the air and returned to her. Aisha slipped on her trainers, picked up her prayer mat and quietly walked away from the stream, hoping that the woman had not seen or heard them.

  The dog began scratching and burrowing at some ivy, exposing a large concrete slab. It seemed as if it was searching for something. Did it know this place? Then, without warning it disappeared underground.

  Aisha eased herself over the concrete ledge and crouched down on her hands and knees to see where the dog had gone. She pulled back some brambles and was surprised to find an opening and steps leading down into a dark room. She could just make out the dog’s bright eyes shining through the gloom and was taken aback at how relieved she felt that the animal seemed unharmed. She crouched low to avoid knocking herself out on the ceiling. The fine mesh of a spider’s web clung to her face. She ducked under one cobweb and then another and another until she finally entered a kind of basement room. Two stone benches ran along the sides. At the end was a bunk bed with blankets folded on an old mattress. She felt like an intruder into a place that had been undisturbed for years. The dog leaned into Aisha, feeling her discomfort, and she found herself placing her arms around it and drawing it close. Above her head she could still hear the old woman ranting on. Whether or not she had reason to be afraid of her, it was a relief to be hidden away.

  Aisha stroked the dog. She noticed that as she rhythmically touched its silken coat her own breathing settled and calmed. The dog looked up at Aisha and the strangest thought came to her. It’s as if Allah has sent this red dog to protect me. Like Muna said. It’s my Guardian.

  To Aisha’s relief the old woman’s voice eventually faded and merged into the constant flow of the stream.

  Over dinner Shalini tiptoed her way around the conversation, gently reminding Zak every so often to contact his dad. As she spoke Shalini looked at him cautiously as if half expecting an explosion. He refused to meet her eyes.

  As soon as he heard Shalini’s bedroom door close Zak began to pack as he had watched his mum do so many times. Now it was his turn. It wasn’t easy to find what he needed because everything was still in crates, but after rummaging around he managed to locate his wind-up torch and some warm clothes. Then he walked over to his desk and picked up the plasterwork and the little photo of Albert and Edwin. He felt in his pocket for the old map of the wood. If the air-raid shelter that he’d read about in the library was still in the wild bit of Home Wood, he intended to find it. It would be a good place to hide out for a while, to cut himself off from everything. If anything has happened to Mum, I can’t stand to see it on the news, or hear it on the radio, or have someone arrive at the door and tell me that she’s just another casualty of war. Zak scowled – the irony had not escaped him. I’m running away to find an air-raid shelter from an old war to escape from a new one.

  He walked down the stairs, searched through some boxes in the hallway and found a sleeping bag. From the kitchen he took a small pan, a bag of apples, bananas, some tins, bread and a bottle of water and shoved them into a carrier in the top of his bag. He checked his wallet. He had a twenty pound note and some change. It would have to do. He closed the door quietly behind him and stepped out into the gentle autumn breeze. He noticed that the lights were still on in Liliana’s flat as he passed her door. He felt a pang of guilt, imagining Shalini finding him gone in the morning and having to break the news to his dad. Maybe he should have left a note, but what would he have said? That he couldn’t stand the waiting and not knowing again? That he was terrified that his mum might not come back. That he just needed to get away from this fake home. That he had to shut himself off from the news of a world that he could do nothing to change.

  A police van was parked on the corner of Home Wood, the doors flung open. Two large Alsatians lay panting in the back. Zak retreated into the shadows of the trees on the opposite side of the road. From here he was able to watch without being seen.

  ‘And you’ve searched the other side too? The helicopter picked up something in there.’

  ‘These two only sniffed out Elder, ranting on as usual.’

  ‘Poor old girl. As long as you’re sure the place has been scoured. I’d hate to think there’d been any wrongdoing and the child had ended up in there.’

  ‘Don’t worry. If she was, these two would have sniffed her out! Mind you –’ the police officer pointed to one of the panting dogs – ‘when Tyson saw Elder he rolled over belly up like a pup!’

  ‘Probably felt sorry for her. I know I do, but there’s no helping some people. Anyway, according to that homeless kid, Iona, the girl headed straight off into town.’

  ‘Well, that’ll be it then. We’d better send the message out to step up trawling the streets. I think we’re done here.’ The policeman patted both dogs on the head, fastened the bolts on their cage and slammed the van doors closed.

  Aisha’s headscarf and face were now covered in a layer of cobwebs. She coughed and cleared her lips and mouth of the fine threads. Now that the old woman had gone she felt as if she could breathe again. She stood up and walked over to the bunk beds and was relieved to find no cans or bottles; no evidence that anyone had been here in years. It was dry and a place to shelter, and if she cleaned it out it would be somewhere to stay where no one would think of finding her. She had read about places like this where families had hidden underground when a city had been bombed. If only there had been a safe place for her aunt and cousins to run to when the attackers had come to he
r village.

  The dog followed her back outside. She looked around tentatively and headed towards the thick woodland to the right of the shelter where great arcs of bracken grew. She ripped off some fronds and dragged them back inside. As she entered she gently wafted them through the air to sweep away the remaining cobwebs. She remembered how carefully the old woman had manoeuvred her way around the fine web that the golden leaf had hung on to avoid breaking it. Aisha gently swished the giant arms of fern over the floor like a broom. A live carpet of insects scuttled about as she swept and cleared. The far end of the shelter was almost as dark as night, but near the entrance the light streamed in. As she swept, her eye was caught by writing on the walls. There were names, and next to some of the names were simple children’s drawings that had faded to grey but were still clearly visible. Each name was written in distinct handwriting like a signature, as if the people who had been here had been marking out their territory, making it their own.

  There was swirly adult writing as well as crude lettering by young children.

  It was these names that Aisha felt drawn to. She could almost hear a pleading voice in the child’s writing . . .

  The emotion rose up in Aisha’s chest and she took a deep breath and slumped down on one of the benches. The dog padded over and placed its head on her knee. How strange that she had found herself in a place where other children had wished and wished for their father to come home. It was the reason why she could never settle with the idea of being adopted by anyone, not even Liliana. If someone was missing, surely there was always a chance that they could be found. She had been to Heathrow Airport with Liliana once when they were going on holiday and had been mesmerized by the greetings between the waiting people and those arriving off long-haul flights. If you watched closely enough you could read their bodies like maps, in the expressions on their faces, their arms flung wide in abandon. You could tell how long they had been parted for and how much struggle had gone into finally being reunited. Aisha thought she could spot the ones who had really believed that they would never see each other again. She couldn’t count the times since then that she had dreamed herself there, watching her abo walking through that barrier. Whenever she woke after that familiar dream she could always still feel her heart bursting with joy until slowly the happiness turned sour as she realized that she had to wake up.